Fat and fire
Through some of the "feminist" blogs that I visit almost daily, I came across something pretty interesting: the fat acceptance movement. Kate Harding talks quite a lot about at her blog Shapely Prose. It's very interesting, and something I never thought about before.
Many people on my mom's side of the family are "overweight" and even "obese", or, at the very least, their weight fluctuates over the years. At about 5'2", my mom fluctuated between over 200 lbs. to probably around 130 lbs. She told me that when she was a young teenager, she would binge eat and hide food in her bedroom. As she grew up a bit, though, she became much thinner and had, in my opinion from the pictures I've seen, a pretty healthy body size and looked great in a swim suit. Her weight fluctuated a lot after she had kids and as we grew up, however, due to stress. I don't know if it's our background, or if we're simply a family of terrible eaters. Somehow I can't believe the latter, but society has always told me otherwise.
My body has stayed relatively the same since my childhood, except for the addition of more shapely hips and breasts as I matured. I've always been "overweight." When I was about nine, our family doctor told my mom to put me on a diet of carrot and celery sticks alone to force me to lose weight. She thought that was a ridiculous idea and continued feeding me just the same as she always did. My brother and I ate the same things and he was skinny as a rail. In fact, he definitely ate more junk than I did. I wasn't the most active kid who ever lived, but I played friendly games of various sports with neighbours, walked and rode my bike everywhere, including to and from school, had a paper route, and did chores. Sure, I ate junk and watched TV and played video games, but what kid doesn't?
As my peers hit puberty, I became increasingly aware of my size. My best male friend's cousin called me The Fat Girl. That friend told me how much he liked me and wanted to date me from middle school through high school, but eventually confessed he was afraid of what the other guys would think because the guys in his group of friends are supposed to date skinny girljocks. He told me that lots of guys find girls like me attractive, but they're too embarrassed to act on it because they're scared of what everyone would think. I was upset, but more than anything else, I couldn't believe how pathetic they all were. And other than not being the first girl at the club the guys grind up on, I figured out on my own that I am attractive. Maybe not in the best ways (i.e.: men whistling, making disgusting comments, hitting on me in random places, etc.), nor in ways that I enjoyed, but I took it for what it was worth. I figured it probably meant I'm not an ugly troll.
But that doesn't mean fat hating doesn't still exist. I hear/read all the time, "Why don't fat people just put down the Twinkie, pick up a carrot and get off their fat asses?" But it's not as simple as that. Many "fat" people eat healthier, or as healthy, as "thin" people. Depriving your body of nutrients and calories isn't healthy, and just because you can eat two Big Macs each day and still be skinny doesn't mean you're healthy. Things like Body Mass Index and the like are full of shit.
I've tried diets in the sense that I try to limit the amount of food I actually put in my body. Even if I took vitamins, I would feel exhausted and cranky after a few days. Semi-starving myself didn't work (obviously), so I'm just trying to eat healthier when I can. I really enjoy a lot of foods, and I'm not going to give up enjoying them just to be a few sizes smaller, which I'm sure I could be. Could I ever be a size four? I doubt it. I know my body.
Also, does it make me a bad person because I'd rather read, write, watch movies, play video games or go for a wandering walk outside than hit up the gym? I've tried the gym, and unless someone forces me to go, I'm not into it. And when I get there, I'm bored. I walk everywhere, go for hikes in the spring/summer/fall, ride my bike, etc. and that's the only kind of exercise I really enjoy.
And on a completely unrelated note, the fire alarms went off in our building for over an hour and a half last night between midnight and 1:30 a.m. They kept going for at least an hour after the fire department came and left. They'd shut off for a while and then turn on, over and over again. I thought I was going to go insane. The fire trucks took off after only a few minutes, so I think someone must have pulled the alarm, or they're malfunctioning.
Only about 10 people or so actually evacuated the building, that I could see from my balcony. Since the Queen Street fire, I've been thinking about what it would take to get us to actually leave and what we would take, and last night I was almost panicking thinking we'd have to pack up the animals and go. But in all honesty, I think I'd have to smell smoke or see flames to leave my apartment. We live on the 17th floor, so walking down (and then back up) all those stairs is a nightmare, especially with the animals, and people pull the fire alarms all the time. I know that's not really safe, but standing out in the cold with two cats crammed into one carrier and a dog freaking out is not my idea of a good time.