self reflection

A few weeks ago, I found myself running down University Avenue. I've done this lots of times, but never on the east side of the street; never along the almost entire block-long length of tall, glimmering store windows. But there I was, and I looked over and saw my reflection. The reflection of myself running.

And I immediately wanted to stop running.

Because, while I know I'm not one of those stick-thin runner girls and I don't see myself that way, I did envision myself with a different gait. I thought that my slower-than-most pace would at least afford me a graceful stride. In my head, while I am running, I look lithe and strong.

In reality I run like I'm afraid of peeing my pants.

And I couldn't decide: should I immediately turn away from my reflection in horror? Or should I run up and down that small-city block in Provo, watching my reflection until my gait changed to match the one in my head? Or should I just stop running altogether and take up knitting for exercise?

This morning I had another unusual perspective of myself. I was doing the plank in the sculpting class I go to at the city rec center. Usually when I do the plank, my head is pointing toward the mirror, so that when I look down I see the long expanse of the mat, and then my shoes, and then the quivering arms of the woman behind me.

But today (we had an intervals class so my regular approach was thrown out the window as I tried to just survive the entire hour without weeping) I found myself doing the plank with my toes pointing toward the mirror. When I started doing the plank thing where you tap one foot to the side, bring it back to the middle, and then repeat with the other foot, I looked down. I saw the long expanse of the mat, my shoes, and then a lovely reflection of my underbum (not sure how else to describe it...the curve where bum meets thigh) and my quivering hamstrings.

Holy shiz.

I found myself mentally apologizing to Kendell. "Sorry, honey," I thought, struggling through that minute-long toe-tapping plank. "Sorry for saddling you with those fat thighs for the rest of your life. An eternity of chubbiness is yours."

Gah. I had no idea. Here I am, having lived 40 entire years of my life. Roughly 14,600 days (not counting leap years) and for none of them did I know how atrocious the back of my thighs is. It's chubby. And jiggly.

Once again, the image in my head matches up not even in the least with reality. And I confess: it's fairly discouraging. I'm trying to make myself feel better by reminding myself about the positive mental impact that exercise has, and how I'd be a mental case without running. Even if I do run like a girl who's trying to keep her D-cups from bouncing. (I don't have D-cups.)

But I'd be lying if I didn't tell you that I wish all of that (awkwardly-strode) running had done just a little bit more for my back side.

And that's not even starting on the back fat I glimpsed today.

It's enough to make a woman wish for an unlimited plastic surgery budget.

Or a stronger self-esteem.

Or just some skinnier thighs.

Comments

[Wendy]

I vote better self esteem! :) Amy, you are beautiful! I'm sorry about your bad stride. Please don't stop to knit (I know you couldn't stop anyway). :) I had my stride analyzed when I was in PT ages ago, and the gal who showed me what I looked like showed me the epitome of lerpdom. It was horrible. Totally blew my image of myself and how I look to others. I get it. Then there was the former boyfriend who told me I run like I have a prom dress on. Lovely.

I have a friend who was a runner for quite a while. It was fun watching her get skinny and enjoy her changing body. Then she got MS, and now she can't run. She has had to find peace with her again-changing body, and I believe she has.

I think, ultimately, we all have to find that peace. The human body is beautiful in its many shapes and forms, and even in its post-child-bearing shapes, or hard/lazy-years shapes, or too-many-donuts shapes. We are polluted by the beyond-perfect images the media portrays (not that you don't know that). I remember hearing about one of Julia Roberts' movies, that they put somebody else's legs on the cover because hers weren't thin enough--gimme a break! Anyway, embrace your body, my dear friend!

Oh, Dan's aunt wrote a great relationship book. She's an actress. She talked briefly about all the women she knows who have had plastic surgery (not that you're really thinking of it), and she said none of them were happier afterwards, and realized they needed to accept themselves more. It was nice to hear someone in hollywood say that. I'm rambling! You are awesome, Amy, and you deserve to love your body, extra bulges and non-lithe stride and all. :)

[Becky]

I went to a yoga class a month or so ago. I was watching this girl (who was probably 6 inches shorter than me, and at least 10 years younger) during the whole class. We found ourselves in this sitting-down pose where you are sitting on your feet. I could see her legs in the mirror. And then I looked at mine. Oh holy night. I thought I was all that until I caught that view and it has stuck with me ever since. Because my legs did NOT look like hers, even though in my mind they did.

but whatever. Our legs, though not as skinny as they were back in the day, get us through our miles. And I have seen you running tons of times and I never think you have to pee. We are just harder on ourselves than others.

[Lucy]

I think self- awareness is hard but especially so when it gets physical. I’ve become one of those women who prefers not to know. It alleviates the pain of horror and embarrassment.

That being said, everyone has a different stride. Jay, who is a beautiful runner, doesn’t have a “perfect” stride. I don’t think anyone does. I have felt that way, though, in a Zumba class. I think I’m rocking it...being some kind of Latin dancing goddess and then that mirror thing. Darn it.

Do you want to laugh out loud and blush at the same time? When I first read this I thought you wrote, “Sorry, Kendall, for STRADDLING you with those thighs” instead of the much more decent and less physically descriptive sentence you actually wrote. And seriously, you are strong! You are. You run and you plank and that makes you beautiful. Go, Amy!

[Jamie]

Break the mirror.
Keep running!
Too tired to say more.
love you!

[Julie]

Your first sentence perplexed me - "I found myself running down University Avenue." I thought, "I wonder what is wrong with University Avenue," not living where you live. That was until I continued reading for further context.Duh, Julie. So, you may keep "running down" your jiggly thighs and loping gait, but I think it's time for me to "run down" my lack of comprehension. Thanks for making me smile, Amy, even if it is with a bit embarrassment. (Misreading must be in the air. It has to be spring!) And, keep running. Anyone who runs is beautiful!

[Elizabeth]

When I was reading this all I could think of was your beautiful descriptions of running up and down mountains and around some mythical (to me) thing called Ragnar, and I got all distracted from the downer reflective stuff. I mean, I know that's like the pot calling the kettle black, but still....

xo

[Becki Jones]

All I can say is that I HOPE to look as good as you do when I'm 40!!! You are beautiful, talented, and in GREAT shape. You have 4 beautiful children and you keep running!!! Who cares about the jiggly legs and back fat!!! ;) Ok...we all do...and none of us want it...I'm trying to learn to embrace myself and realize my body won't look perfect...but then again...WHAT is perfect!?!?! Women just compete too much and are never happy with what we have...but I adore you and think you are beautiful!!! Thank you for expressing yourself and having such a GREAT way with words!!! You're awesome!!!