Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

Like most women, I have a love/hate relationship with my body. These days, I am in awe of what my body can do for me--propel me up hills; drag me along kicking and screaming for miles upon miles; fold, if not pretzel-like, respectable enough in my yoga classes and lift gracefully into Teaser in some of Penelope's toughest Pilates sessions. And yet, in spite of all those things, in spite of the fact that the largest size you'll find in my closet is a 2, I continue to heap abuse on myself day after day, week after week, year after year, until it becomes tiresome even to myself.

Where is the feminism in that? Where is the love and respect for all that I have accomplished, thanks to my strong core, muscular legs and flexible lower back? Ten years ago, I couldn't run for ten consecutive minutes--yesterday, I rolled out of bed and ran for over two hours, heat, humidity and all.

I like to tell people I'm small, but strong. And yet in my eyes, it's never small enough.

I struggled with my weight in my teens and early 20's, yo-yoing back and forth--five pounds here, fifteen pounds there, but never really approaching my health in an integrated manner. This all-consuming obsession with food, calories and exercise helped me to loose nearly thirty pounds, but also led me down the dangerous road to anorexia, and quite honestly, I've never quite recovered.

I try to conceive of food as fuel, of running as strengthening, of yoga as purifying, of Pilates as balancing. And yet, I always find myself comparing my body to others--wishing by feet were bunion-free, my boobs were just a bit perkier or my stomach were just a bit tinier.

I've thrown out the scale, and try to use my clothes as a barometer, but my body is changing rapidly as I present it with new challenges, and I certainly can't trust what I see in the mirror, because most days, I still see a chubby, depressed and insecure teen. And yet, every now and again--sometimes, it's when I first wake up in the morning, and others, it's just a passing glance at the muscle in my thighs or the curve of my belly--and I think "wow, I'm beautiful."

I wish I had more of those days.