On the Sensitive Issue of Weight

I used to tell people, when I was trying to lose weight, “I’m trying to lose weight.” After after eighty million variations on the responses, “I hate you,” “You’re too skinny,” “You have a wonderful body!” and “Are you anorexic?” I stopped using those words. As many times as I tried to explain that I’m not too skinny (I’m on the high end of healthy weight for my height and bone structure), I have no self-image problems about my appearance (I’m rather fond of my long-limbed body), and I like food way too much to ever have an eating problem, people of all shapes and sizes vehemently shoot down the idea that a girl of my size should ever have to think about losing weight.

Weight and fatness are right up there with religious exclusivity as taboo subjects in today’s culture. A few people have spoken out about the beauty of a large girth, that a woman can be attractive at any size or shape. The hipless boy-bodied models on the magazines claim otherwise. I think women especially think of weight in terms of attractiveness: skinny = pretty, fat = ugly. So when I utter the forbidden words, “I’m trying to lose weight,” the women around me interpret that to mean, “I’m trying to become more attractive.” Thus the flurry of jealousy, concern, and assurances that I’m beautiful just the way I am. Women heavier than me see it as an indictment on the way they look. Women skinnier than me see it as a competition. But although I’d like to see my pudgy belly go away, for me losing weight is not at all about how I look.

That’s why I changed the way I phrased it. When I’m trying to lose weight, I say, “I’m trying to get in better shape.” This is much less threatening to everyone, and it’s also a more accurate description of what I hope to accomplish by losing weight. I’ve put on about fifteen pounds over the past several months. It’s not very noticeable because I’m so tall, but I feel it every time I walk. Carrying an extra fifteen pounds takes a toll after a while. I get out of breath easily. That’s fine when I’m talking a short two-miler with my mother, but what happens when I’m lugging a thirty-pound backpack up a mountain in Oregon? Every pound counts, whether I’m carrying it on my back or in my belly. I don’t care what size or shape my friends are, as long as they have the energy and means to live life to the fullest. In my case, it means being strong and lean enough to hike twenty miles in a day. When I can’t do that, I haven’t reached my full potential.

So if I slip up sometime and say, “I’m trying to lose weight,” please forgive these highly offensive words. What I really mean is, “I want to enjoy life as fully as I can.”

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