A Perfect Body

I've got a perfect body, but sometimes I forget
I've got a perfect body, cause my eyelashes catch my sweat
- Regina Spektor

I've been having a hard time with my body lately. I've been trying to lose about 10lbs ever since the holidays, and I haven't been having much luck. Technically, I've already lost these 10lbs about 3 times in as many years, which makes their repeated return even more frustrating. In any case, losing them again has been difficult because the cold weather has destroyed my willingness to leave the house for exercise, and also I have a moral obligation to eat all of the chocolate in North Carolina.

I blame my dissatisfaction with my body on the fact that it's currently 10lbs larger than my arbitrary ideal, but in fact wasn't happy with my body even at my thinnest. My "thinnest" wasn't particularly slim, of course, but it was a perfectly average, acceptable weight, and probably fully 20lbs less than what I weigh now. But at the time I lamented my full hips, my thick thighs, and strong calves. I wasn't petite and top-heavy, and I considered it a serious injustice. (This was in high school, when most things were injustices.) When I look at photos from that time, I want to slap that girl. At this point in my life I don't even aspire to be that thin again, because I think it would be too difficult to maintain. That was probably a major high point in my physical history, and I wasted it. I should have been enjoying myself! I should have worn a bikini everywhere! I should have been taking nude photos every day and showing them to strangers!

Obviously, the irony is that a woman in her mid-30s, or 40s, or 50s, or anyone whose just had her first child, or really any number of people, could look at me now and think how ridiculous it is for a childless woman in her late-20s with a perfectly average body type to be lamenting "the good old days." They have a point. Sometimes when I'm standing in front of a mirror, scrutinizing the line between my eyebrows that comes from constantly judging stupid people, I try to imagine what I'll look like when I'm 80, and remind myself that some day I'll look back fondly on the time when I only had one slight wrinkle.

I also try to remind myself to stop making this face so much.

Likewise, I recently read a piece that was written by a gorgeous woman who had suffered a medical event that left her face substantially changed. She's beautiful in a different way now, but were I in her position I assume there would be days when I would miss the way I once looked, or the ways I used to express myself with my face. (Yes, even that hateful expression up there is something for which to be thankful.) It seems silly to nitpick over superficial things like acne and laugh lines when could suddenly find yourself faced with a much more deeply frustrating situation. And barring a medical catastrophe, that's what happens gradually as we age, anyway.

It's not just a matter of how much worse it could be. It's true that I could weigh 400lbs, or be 80 years old, or have a debilitating disease. It's also true that, regardless of your point of comparison, I have so much to be thankful for and excited about. Yesterday, I ran outside for the first time since early January. I always feel beautiful after I've been running. Not "pretty," not even necessarily "attractive," given that my face is usually beet-red, my hair sweat-soaked and in disarray, and my scent decidedly rustic. Nevertheless, I feel beautiful. The ache in my legs reminds me of their strength, and the rhythm of my lungs and heart are evidence of my vim and vigor, I suppose.

It's good to remember that I can run. I can jump. I can eat spicy food and chew gum. I can wear mascara, and put my hair in a pony tail. I can stand on my tiptoes and reach objects on high shelves. I can crochet, and paint bookshelves. There's a lot of joy to be had with almost any body, if we really look at what we've got and stop comparing it to some past or future ideal self.

Well, would you look at that. I've talked myself into a state of inspiration. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go put on a bikini and run through town. Locals, you have 20 minutes to don your sunglasses.