progress & body image

Last night I stepped on a scale.

For the first time in months and months.  Now I know how much my body weighs.

This number used to bother me.  My body used to bother me.  Insecurity has always been one of my greatest weaknesses.  My physical appearance, the greatest source of woe.  (I remember being in elementary school and a girl telling me I had an ugly nose -- girls are the worst.)  My body is, after all, somewhat deformed.  I'm divided in half by a huge scar and have this really unfortunate protruding rib... well.  Anyway.  There's lots of things I could mourn about my physical appearance.

And I used to mourn them.

I used to hide in baggy clothes.  Shy away from mirrors.  Fail to make eye contact.  Argue with anyone who gave me a compliment.  I'd dread getting on those scales.  And HATED having my picture taken.

It's been a long, hard battle.  I've been fighting for self worth.  Fighting for beauty.  Fighting for my identity.  Fighting for the very space I take up in this world.

But almost three years ago now, something changed.  In January of 2009, I stepped into a gym.

It wasn't the first time.  But it was the first time, which did not lead to failure.  Which did not lead to quitting.

After five months, I'd lost almost 60 inches and 25 pounds.

I had begun an outward transformation.

Three years later, I keep dropping inches and have gained almost all the weight back in muscle.

The outward transformation continues.  Steadily, healthily.

It's the inner transformation that has taken me by surprise.

At some point this year, something changed.

Something that had been in process for years... suddenly emerged.

If you know me, you can see it too.

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I have embraced my physical body.  The shape God gave me.  The narrow, sloping shoulders.  The small waist.  The massive hips and butt.  The short legs.

The scoliosis.

The high cheekbones.  The green eyes.  The crooked teeth.

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Exercise has become my therapy.  Strength has become my goal.

I know who I am.

And my appearance has fallen into step.

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I was in the middle of a circuit the other night, and realized I had plateaued.  My workout was boring and was no longer doing anything but maintaining.  I was ready for some sore muscles and some more flexibility and a stronger heart.

So I did my research.  Utilized some resources.  And the next time I hit the gym, I walked out with legs like jelly, drenched in sweat.

I pushed myself.  Tried something that was hard for me.  Attempted something my body didn't know how to do yet.  And I didn't do it well the first time.  One-legged straight dead lifts proved to be a wobbly challenge.  Resulting in an extremely sore hamstring.

I was in love with progress.

With whatever growth just happened.

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So when I stepped on the scale last night, and the number was higher than expected, it didn't even phase me.

I am not 157.

That is not who I am.

And for the first time I believe that.

For the first time, since perhaps I was 15 years old, I can walk into a room without apologizing.  Without cowering, for fear of falling short.

I know who I am.

On the inside and the outside.

And I like who I'm becoming.

As I progress, you'll hear about it.  As the numbers change and the workouts change, I'll report.  This victory should not go unacknowledged.