My body and I have a long history together and it wasn't until recently that I recognized the true friendship and loyalty my body has unrelentingly given me. We are now entering into our 49th year together and as I look back over all our adventures I can't help but admire her. I have no recollection of when she was tiny, pudgy and cute, although I wish I did, because it may have been the only time I would have looked at her with non-judgmental eyes and innocent love. When we were in grade school she embarrassed me regularly because she was so darn skinny. Everyday I would look for creative ways to hide her by dressing her in baggy pants and oversized tops just to conceal those bird legs. No matter how much chocolate I shoved in her mouth or Doritos I forced her to munch on she just wouldn't gain a pound. All my classmates taunted us regularly and relentlessly because of our boyish figure. It wasn't until later in life I wished I could have that boyish figure back and the freedom to eat chocolate and Doritos guilt free. My shame of her waif like body left her sweaty and miserable almost every summer, yet, she never complained and she always had the fortitude to carry me on any new adventure I desired.
As the years passed she began to change her appearance by growing two little lumps on her scrawny frame, unmanageable hair and a set of crooked teeth making her look like a really ugly boy, or as my parents used to say, "an ugly duckling." Again, I was totally unsympathetic to her and would curse her for her ugly self. Even with all my loathing of her she stayed true to me by being strong, healthy and agile allowing me to play, swim, learn and explore the world around us.
The entry into puberty brought continuous change and I stayed committed to hating her for not mutating in a way I believed would have brought both of us joy.
We were clearly not on the same page.
Somewhere in our 20s we grew us some long curly hair, which I promptly bleached blonde, obviously her choice of color was in poor taste. I still wasn't happy with her legs, stomach, rear end, nose...
Oh, let's face it, she was just not cutting it!
I had to push her daily to exercise and eat only what I thought would serve me not her. We spent our entire 20s fighting like two little old ladies. Just like a couple heading for divorce we grew to hate each other, only in this case, there wasn't a judge in the land who would be able to separate us.
I was stuck with her and she was stuck with me.
She was needier then a bad boyfriend, always asking for food or sleep and the more she asked the less I gave her. Instead, I would punish her with hours of Olivia Newton John's Let's Get Physical aerobics and running as often as I could. Only then would I offer her a cup of frozen yogurt to shut her up. She had no idea of the pressure I was under to make her look good, not to mention the pressure of finding a boyfriend. The only girls the boys were interested in at the time were tall, lanky, big bosomed blonde bombshells.
Come to think of it, I think that's all they are still interested in. What nerve my body had to stop growing when we hit 5'4!
By the time we arrived to our 30s we were at an all out war with each other. We started out the decade by tearing our knees into shreds during a ski trip. I remember waking up in the hospital after surgery begging her to heal and allow me to walk again. Being the devoted friend she took our crumbling legs and walked us back to a place where we can still exercise today. Nevertheless, I continue to scold her for our knees perpetually screaming like girls, and they in turn, relentlessly continue to holler back at me. I am of the firm belief that someday I will teach those patella's to work for me not against me. Its not like they have a choice, if I don't exercise I get cranky and when I get cranky I tend to drive into bad neighborhoods, which is often inside my own head. I remind myself that my body will forgive me... eventually.
One day in our late 30s my body and I decided to change the world...we got pregnant. During this time it was my turn to show compassion towards my body as she stretched, bloated, got sick and winced in pain. I even allowed her to eat all the foods she craved; chips, cookies and lots of French fries -- I still allow her a generous amount of flexibility when it comes to French fries. What I didn't allow for was the idea of having anyone use her as a milking cow. We were not going to breast-feed and that was my final answer! This was the only attribute of hers that I really felt proud of and I was extremely protective of them. She on the other hand really didn't care what I said and during the pregnancy she allowed them to grow into the size of two peaches on Barry Bonds type steroids. I could see the storm that lay ahead of us as we got closer to giving birth. In fact, I was convinced we would be giving birth to a teenager because we were pregnant for what seemed like an eternity. We inched towards the last days of our pregnancy very lovingly and for the first time I felt we were a team. She was stretched as far as she could be without popping and I was exhausted listening to her kvetch for the past nine years, oh, I mean, nine months, but we were a united front. Together we gave birth to the most beautiful little spirit, she was pink and perfect,
until...
until...
the doctor told us she was very ill and would probably "not make it"
not make it...
not make it...
not make it...
Like a fly stuck in a jar I was bouncing around in my brain feeling helpless and scared. My body, well, she was calm and knew exactly what to do. She marched into the ICU and told the nurse to hand that baby over to her and then she created another miracle... she began to feed our precious baby with the two most valuable assets we had... our breasts. Eleven years later, our baby girl is growing her own bumps and she continues to be our little miracle.
Today, I stand before myself in the mirror and see the hips that were once boyish padded with love, love that carried our little girl for years every time she looked up at us and said, "uppy." Our face is lined with many wrinkles, wrinkles that were once an enemy, now they represent pages in our book of life and they tell the story of a beautiful friendship between my body and my mind. Together we have traveled many seas, chased dreams, caught moonlight and have now begun to grow old...er. We are kindred spirits brought together in this life span and she has generously loaned me her vessel to help me sail through my journey of this existence. A day -- hopefully a long time from now -- will come when we must part ways and I will need to lay her down to rest permanently. Now days, I try to tell her how much I love her, how beautiful she is and how sorry I am for the years I abused her, disrespected her or let her down. She rewards me daily with a renewed sense of energy and continuous health. Every morning she places our two feet on the ground and takes us anywhere I wish to go. At times I still look at her and feel disappointed in her shape and how she is beginning to show the signs of an old weathered ship, but then I remind myself how far we have come and how we still have so much to do. Sometimes I see her struggling, but she never gives up, she just keeps going even when she is pooped. I love my body, and she has shown me time and again how much she loves me. She is beautiful, superlative and uniquely one of a kind. We are perfect together and I am eternally grateful for her choosing to take me on this glorious ride... My body and I have a long ways to go with many more stories to tell, but for now, I am happy to say that we are a true love story...
If you and your body have a story to share please email us at: agismith@comcast.net