Posted by admin on July 21, 2017
How I went from 59kg to 77kg and never looked back Like many women nationwide, when the news broke that there was a 78kg contestant on this season of The Biggest Loser, it gave me pause in no small part because I'm 77kg myself. But rather than wondering whether I, too, should be signing up for the show's next season, I reflected on what nike d rose I have dubbed my "Inspirational Personal Weight Gain Journey", a title I settled upon because, well, when was the last time you heard one of those? I should note at the outset that I respect and understand anyone's desire to change their body in any way, since I've been there myself (many times). I also note that I don't place much value in scale weight, since everybody and every body is different, compulsory Body Acceptance is an ideological nightmare, and the BMI is problematic if not directly a cog in the late capitalist weight loss industry machine. However, with all that in mind, here's how I [please read this in the appropriate gossip magazine screaming voice] went from 59kg to 77kg and never looked back!! When my Goal Body didn't magically solve my emotional or romantic issues, I eased up a bit: I started eating more, and gradually gained weight. But it was only in 2015 that I stopped or rather, began the process of stopping thinking of my body solely in terms of where its value sat, as I wrote, in an economy of visual desire: either whether I had the "right" body for any particular fashion trend, or whether I was "hot" enough to dazzle possible sexual partners. I was bigger, yes, but I was still unhappy. It took another two years after that to realise there was still more undoing to do. I had to learn what amazing things my body could do if I put in the time and effort, and let go of fanciful notions like "a smoking hot beach bod in just 12 days". I don't generally like to quote Nike slogans, but there's something to be said for their "stop exercising, start training" mantra: suddenly my goals were not based on arbitrary things like clothing sizes, but instead concrete milestones like "run up stairs without getting puffed" or "do an unassisted pull up by my 35th birthday". Achievements became less tenuous, and took longer, but the rewards were so much greater. Hand in hand with this was getting a hold on my complex relationship with food, which had typically consisted of controlling behaviours (hello, "nutrient dense raw vegan") interspersed with mind boggling amounts of processed and fast foods. I now know about macronutrients and portions, eat enough protein to grow my muscles, and when I hear inane Pete Evans ish waffle about power foods or Sarah Wilson esque nonsense about eating masses of coconut oil to "feel full", my mind goes to a happier place. Now, a few months from that pull up birthday milestone, I am a changed woman: I eat constantly (though I won't bore you with the details of my individual caloric/macronutrient goals, suffice to say I've become very familiar with protein), and I work out around five days a week. "Working out" no longer means a punishing sustained state slog on the treadmill followed by a few limp yanks on the pull down machine; I train heavy, do supersets and Tabata sessions, and foam roll when it's all over and done with. "Cardio", in the euphemistic women's magazine "weight loss" sense, is a thing of the past; instead I walk places because I enjoy it (I find documentarian Michael Moore's treatise on walking incredibly inspiring). I know my calves and knees are not built for running and I couldn't care less. Yes, I've become "that guy" who does deep squats at the tram stop and makes my own protein balls. I went to the Arnold Classic and experienced the same "I'm home" sensation I did at my first Comic Con. But this newfound relationship with exercise and food is special because it's all about me: not how I look to others, or what size I am compared to them, but finding out what my body can do if I give it the time and fuel to grow. This shift has also meant that the gym is no longer a scary or punishing space, and I revel in the friendships and support I witness there on a daily basis, from 14 year olds taking selfies of each other to the ancient wizard types who come in and do strongman poses with the dumbbells and then chat for hours. When my workout partner smashes her chest routine, I feel so stoked for her; we've both found inspiration in the 51 year friendship of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Franco Columbu, a partnership built around vitality rather than slothful shared grievances. I feel sad when I overhear a new female gym member ask a trainer, with panic in her voice, if lifting weights will make her "bulky" (for the record, in short, no; in fact, as someone who'd love boulder shoulders, I wish it would!). I want to run up to her, hug her, and tell her that I, too, once thought the answer to all my problems was just to "tone up in general overall" (then show her the squat rack). It's true that there are a number of empirical benefits to all this I smile more, I have more energy, Sarah Connor shoulders are on the horizon but most importantly, I feel so much more alive than I did during the grip of that nightmare time. Never again will I doubt the power of exercise to overcome low mood and anxiety. (And of course we all know what the greatest feeling you can get in the gym is.) The anxiety that used to keep me locked inside the house has fallen back to a manageable low hum. As Arnie wrote in his 1981 bodybuilding tome, "Training gives us an outlet for suppressed energies created by stress and thus tones the spirit just as exercise conditions the body." There is a danger in writing "body memoir" that one's experience will be misread as a suggestion; that if you, too, do exactly what I've done, your problems will be solved and you'll enjoy an identical outcome. (Well, that may be the case if you're also 34 years old, 178cm tall, weigh 77 ish kilos, and had a calf muscle tear in mid 2016, in which case good luck to you.) What I hope that Sharing My Story will do, rather, is encourage more women to reconsider their relationships with both their list of nike outlets in karachi body and with exercise and to extricate the latter from its women's magazine led history as something that you only do to lose weight and "tone up". I don't want you to rush straight to your gym and pick up an Olympic nike outlet seaside bar, throw your scales out on hard rubbish, or immediately overhaul your eating plan. But I do want you to take a moment to think about how you feel about your body, and only you. As for me, I hope to put on more weight as I ride this gains train towards goals that are still unfolding before me. One day I might be able to deadlift my bodyweight or more. One day I might be able to chokeslam an adult male through a trestle table. One day I might shake Mr Schwarzenegger's hand. Who knows? In the immortal words of sports agent Dicky Fox, "Hey, I don't have all the answers; in life, to be honest, I've failed as much as I've succeeded. But I love my wife, I love my life, and I wish you my kind of success."