I work in dialysis. The 2 leading causes of kidney failure are diabetes and high blood pressure. So I shouldn't probably be suprised when the "obesity epidemic" comes up as a topic, but as a social worker I find it hard for it to be discussed without its attendant issues of system of discrimination.
We had a social work meeting for the social workers in our region yesterday, and a woman began talking about it as a cause. It was so frustrating. There was no space in the meeting to be able to challenge the idea of the "epidemic" or discuss with more nuance some of the social and cultural issues that go into size and the medical industry.
It was dropped so casually, as though we would all understand and accept that large bodies = unhealthy bodies. I'm all for keeping track of your health. I'm going to more doctors lately than I care to. But I have excellent insurance and a job to pay for medication and co-pays. I have no fear of the medical establishment. I have had doctors who reflected what I looked like, what I sound like and what my lifestyle is for most of my life. I trust them.
This to me - this lack of access, and lack of trust of the medical community for people of color is huge and needs to be addressed more urgently than does the so-called epidemic that is so hyped....then perhaps we can tackle lack of access to fresh, affordable foods and exercise facilities/resources.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Height and Weight
Over at Shapely Prose, there is a challenge to share your body weight as a way to start being honest about what particular weights look like on people. The Rotund upped the ante with a guess-her-weight exercise. I don't have a full-length photo or I might be tempted to do the same.
But here's a picture of me at the Reno Balloon Races....
In this picture, I weigh about 250 (I haven't weighed myself since I got sick, so it may be a little more). I am 5'6".
But here's a picture of me at the Reno Balloon Races....
In this picture, I weigh about 250 (I haven't weighed myself since I got sick, so it may be a little more). I am 5'6".
Monday, September 17, 2007
Life Expectancy
Since starting this blog, I've been very ill for most of the time. I think I'd like to write more sometime about weight and being ill, but the idea of writing about this thing that has sucked the life out of me (seemingly, not really) is a daunting proposition. So I'm blogging about something else.
It's occurred to me, oh these many months, that there is something wrong with the scare tactics that are being used to draw people into weight loss. We are getting fatter, the "experts" insist, and this is bad, bad, bad for our health. Researchers write that we fat folks will die young, messy deaths if we don't lose weight. Never to mention the unmentioned Gilbert Grape-esque threat that we will be too large to move from our king sized beds when we kick it.
I don't think I'll speak to the fear of dying fat right now. I'm on the scent of the living, if you will. You see, I'm a big fan of random internet-ness...most particularly quizes or things that tell me randomly that my porn name would be Missy Emerson. So several years ago, I remembered doing one of those life-expectancy calculators on the web.
I was, at the time, in the midst of a weight loss endeavor. I was, also, almost suicidally depressed and drinking to solve this, rather than sensibly approaching my doctor for an antidepressant. I remembered, at the time, being safely close to the national average for life expectancy.
So I started to wonder, had gaining back those 41 lbs really diminished my life expectancy drastically? Was I really going to die at young age? Was there a significant difference between my life expectancy at the weight I was currently at and the "ideal" for my height according to the BMI ranges?
While I didn't remember the exact years I was told I could expect to live, I was easily able to re-configure the information on a calculator at MSN Money. My life expectancy at the time was 62 years old.
So my life expectancy today, with added weight but no drinking? 67 years old. The calculator tells me that I would live to be 77 if I dropped 100 lbs. I should be impressed, I suppose, but does that 10 years really mean anything - or the calculators?
Both my parents are overweight. They are both inactive, generally, although my mother still works. Both are considered obese. My mother has heart disease (long standing, she had her first heart attack at 41 when she was underweight and chainsmoking) and my father had cancer about 5 years ago (successfully treated with surgery) and has had several strokes. I would like to be more vigorous than they at their age, yes, but my sense is that this has more to leading an active lifestyle than it does to do with their weight.
Indeed, the illnesses from which they suffered are what predisposed me to a lower life-expectancy. If my mother hadn't had heart disease and my father hadn't had cancer, I would be living to a fat and happy 88 years, according to the same calculator.
The only immediate family members (even the fat ones) I've had who have died before the ripe age of 80 were the result of suicide. I've, happily, discovered the joys of antidepressants and feel the urge never again to succumb to that hell without a pharmaceutical fight. So I'm guessing that if I exercise, eat fruits and veggies, don't smoke or drink, I'm in for a long and feisty life.
It's occurred to me, oh these many months, that there is something wrong with the scare tactics that are being used to draw people into weight loss. We are getting fatter, the "experts" insist, and this is bad, bad, bad for our health. Researchers write that we fat folks will die young, messy deaths if we don't lose weight. Never to mention the unmentioned Gilbert Grape-esque threat that we will be too large to move from our king sized beds when we kick it.
I don't think I'll speak to the fear of dying fat right now. I'm on the scent of the living, if you will. You see, I'm a big fan of random internet-ness...most particularly quizes or things that tell me randomly that my porn name would be Missy Emerson. So several years ago, I remembered doing one of those life-expectancy calculators on the web.
I was, at the time, in the midst of a weight loss endeavor. I was, also, almost suicidally depressed and drinking to solve this, rather than sensibly approaching my doctor for an antidepressant. I remembered, at the time, being safely close to the national average for life expectancy.
So I started to wonder, had gaining back those 41 lbs really diminished my life expectancy drastically? Was I really going to die at young age? Was there a significant difference between my life expectancy at the weight I was currently at and the "ideal" for my height according to the BMI ranges?
While I didn't remember the exact years I was told I could expect to live, I was easily able to re-configure the information on a calculator at MSN Money. My life expectancy at the time was 62 years old.
So my life expectancy today, with added weight but no drinking? 67 years old. The calculator tells me that I would live to be 77 if I dropped 100 lbs. I should be impressed, I suppose, but does that 10 years really mean anything - or the calculators?
Both my parents are overweight. They are both inactive, generally, although my mother still works. Both are considered obese. My mother has heart disease (long standing, she had her first heart attack at 41 when she was underweight and chainsmoking) and my father had cancer about 5 years ago (successfully treated with surgery) and has had several strokes. I would like to be more vigorous than they at their age, yes, but my sense is that this has more to leading an active lifestyle than it does to do with their weight.
Indeed, the illnesses from which they suffered are what predisposed me to a lower life-expectancy. If my mother hadn't had heart disease and my father hadn't had cancer, I would be living to a fat and happy 88 years, according to the same calculator.
The only immediate family members (even the fat ones) I've had who have died before the ripe age of 80 were the result of suicide. I've, happily, discovered the joys of antidepressants and feel the urge never again to succumb to that hell without a pharmaceutical fight. So I'm guessing that if I exercise, eat fruits and veggies, don't smoke or drink, I'm in for a long and feisty life.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
On being ill and fat
My doctor's medical assistant weighs me everytime I go in for an appointment. There have been 2 times, now, in which I've been in to the office only a week after my last appointment. The first time, I was on either side of my menstrual cycle and it was amusing to find that my weight fluctuated by about 2 lbs during that time.
This week, I'd been at home, in bed and sick all week. I had an apetite but no energy to do much of anything. I lay in bed, ate mostly convenience food and lot's of sugar...my body seemed to crave the sugar. I drank lot's of fluids, again mostly sugar, to keep myself hydrated.
So when I was asked to get on the scale to be weighed (again a week after I'd been in for an annual exam), I had gained 3 lbs. As much as I wish it didn't, that weight gain is dismaying. And it's crazy-making that it is.
I mean, I was sick FFS! I should be able to allow my body to do what it needs. I should be glad that the illness was not one that had me weighing less and allowed me to keep myself adequately nourished. But there is some cultural demon that lives in my brain...the one that says that weight loss when you are sick isn't really dieting. That's an acceptable way to drop some pounds.
While I was ill, I was re-reading Rachel's Holiday, a story about a cocaine addict who goes into recovery. She not only deals with her drug addiction, but also has some seriously messed up ideas about her weight. She's described as always being "solid" and tall, but she aspires to being a size 0. So she and her friend compliment each other by saying things like, "you look anorexic" to one another.
I know that a book like this may show an extreme example of weight obsession, but I don't think it's entirely off-track. There are enough pro-Ana websites to show that there is a serious movement of young women who aspire to anorexic thinness. They are literally making themselves sick to be thin.
In that context, it's not at all surprising to find that I hope being sick will make me thinner. But it's disturbing nonetheless.
This week, I'd been at home, in bed and sick all week. I had an apetite but no energy to do much of anything. I lay in bed, ate mostly convenience food and lot's of sugar...my body seemed to crave the sugar. I drank lot's of fluids, again mostly sugar, to keep myself hydrated.
So when I was asked to get on the scale to be weighed (again a week after I'd been in for an annual exam), I had gained 3 lbs. As much as I wish it didn't, that weight gain is dismaying. And it's crazy-making that it is.
I mean, I was sick FFS! I should be able to allow my body to do what it needs. I should be glad that the illness was not one that had me weighing less and allowed me to keep myself adequately nourished. But there is some cultural demon that lives in my brain...the one that says that weight loss when you are sick isn't really dieting. That's an acceptable way to drop some pounds.
While I was ill, I was re-reading Rachel's Holiday, a story about a cocaine addict who goes into recovery. She not only deals with her drug addiction, but also has some seriously messed up ideas about her weight. She's described as always being "solid" and tall, but she aspires to being a size 0. So she and her friend compliment each other by saying things like, "you look anorexic" to one another.
I know that a book like this may show an extreme example of weight obsession, but I don't think it's entirely off-track. There are enough pro-Ana websites to show that there is a serious movement of young women who aspire to anorexic thinness. They are literally making themselves sick to be thin.
In that context, it's not at all surprising to find that I hope being sick will make me thinner. But it's disturbing nonetheless.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
I don't apologize
According to researchers at the Harvard Medical School, being my friend or family member can make you fat. To my loved ones out there, I'm not sure I really am sorry.
The researchers believe that the causation may be that seeing fat people who you care for is going to change your opinion or ideas about being fat, yourself. Gods, I sort of hope this is somewhat true. I hope that by seeing me, or reading about my journey to acceptance of my body, that you too will find yourself hating your body less. I hope that you will no longer feel the need to starve yourself in order to get approval in this world.
I also hope that such changes will help you become more aware of the things your body wants and needs...a varied diet and to move within its range of abilities to keep it healthy and vital. We take better care of our cars than we do of our bodies (I mean really, would you deny your car oil or gas then try to drive it halfway across the country?). This needs to change. We need to recognize that our bodies are precious resources for ourselves, first.
Do I really want you to be fat? No. I want you to be whatever shape or size you are. I want you to know that I love you for who you are, not what size you wear.*
*Although, if we wear roughly the same size and you have extra clothes you're getting rid of, let me know. I do love me some free clothes.
The researchers believe that the causation may be that seeing fat people who you care for is going to change your opinion or ideas about being fat, yourself. Gods, I sort of hope this is somewhat true. I hope that by seeing me, or reading about my journey to acceptance of my body, that you too will find yourself hating your body less. I hope that you will no longer feel the need to starve yourself in order to get approval in this world.
I also hope that such changes will help you become more aware of the things your body wants and needs...a varied diet and to move within its range of abilities to keep it healthy and vital. We take better care of our cars than we do of our bodies (I mean really, would you deny your car oil or gas then try to drive it halfway across the country?). This needs to change. We need to recognize that our bodies are precious resources for ourselves, first.
Do I really want you to be fat? No. I want you to be whatever shape or size you are. I want you to know that I love you for who you are, not what size you wear.*
*Although, if we wear roughly the same size and you have extra clothes you're getting rid of, let me know. I do love me some free clothes.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Fat, dumb and ugly
It seems that these ideas always go hand in hand. Fat people are assumed to be less intelligent and less attractive. Both are matters of opinion...I and plenty of fat people I know are extremely intelligent and more beautiful than we realize. But these ideas are ubiquitous in our culture.
A recent study out of the University of Texas at Austin recently found that obese girls are less likely to attend college than their non-obese peers. The article in the Science Daily is an amazing piece of obesity-reporting denial.
It reads:
But nowhere in the following paragraphs does it discuss what could be causing these mental health and behavioral issues. We are, it seems, to believe that obesity itself (and therefore the girls who cannot control their bodies or their parents who cannot control their childrens' bodies) is to blame for these mental health issues.
Was there a call to educate parents and children about size diversity and the utter insanity of telling children to engage in behaviors which study after study has shown to be futile and potentially damaging to the bodies of young women? No.
Was there an expressed interest in looking into the types of discrimination that these girls, and their fat male peers, experience and its effect on overall health and well-being? No.
Was there even an inkling that somehow the same pressures which infuence depression and behavior problems in obese children might also be inspiring eating disorders in their thinner peers. Absolutely not.
It's absolutely maddening.
A recent study out of the University of Texas at Austin recently found that obese girls are less likely to attend college than their non-obese peers. The article in the Science Daily is an amazing piece of obesity-reporting denial.
It reads:
Crosnoe suggests a number of mental health and behavioral issues seem to play a significant role in keeping obese girls from enrolling in college. The study found obese girls were more likely to consider committing suicide, use alcohol and marijuana and have negative self-images.
But nowhere in the following paragraphs does it discuss what could be causing these mental health and behavioral issues. We are, it seems, to believe that obesity itself (and therefore the girls who cannot control their bodies or their parents who cannot control their childrens' bodies) is to blame for these mental health issues.
Was there a call to educate parents and children about size diversity and the utter insanity of telling children to engage in behaviors which study after study has shown to be futile and potentially damaging to the bodies of young women? No.
Was there an expressed interest in looking into the types of discrimination that these girls, and their fat male peers, experience and its effect on overall health and well-being? No.
Was there even an inkling that somehow the same pressures which infuence depression and behavior problems in obese children might also be inspiring eating disorders in their thinner peers. Absolutely not.
It's absolutely maddening.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
"You can dance, if you want to"
I spent a good portion of my therapy session last night talking about exercise. It seems that I develop headaches when I exercise and it is hot. It probably has a lot to do with several things physiologically, but my therapist and I were interested in all of the psychological issues that exercise holds for me.
I've always been chubby or overweight or obese (oh, the variety of words that can be used). For the most part, my family was not an active one. There were no camping trips or walks around the lakes. Neither of my parents went jogging or joined a gym. My dad golfed occassionally and there was the yearly trip to go fishing up north, but neither of those were terribly active.
So my model of activity was what we did as kids, playing on our block, or the PE classes in school and playground activities. Either because I was chubby or because I wasn't terribly coordinated, I didn't do well with competitive sports. Run and chase games would sometimes leave me feeling anxious and I would just stop running and let myself be caught.
I enjoyed dancing during PE - the schottishe, the Virginia Reel, square dancing - but the rest of that class was just painful for me. I asked, one time, if I could take ballet classes, but my mother sort of brushed me off. I was, after all, enrolled in soccer. Of course, I hated soccer. I was either one of the few girls on an all-boy team, or when I finally got onto a girls team, I was the worst player and got hopelessly teased.
My dilemma was made worse by the fact that my sister excelled at these things. Or she was good enough and got on good enough teams to seem to excell. She got trophies and there were awards banquets. The tropies for soccer, basketball and golf took up the top shelf of the entertainment center. Those trophies are symbolic, not only of the way that I felt a failure in exercise, but how I felt in constant competition with her...and it doesn't take much to guess who I thought always won.
In high school, I was able to do liturgical dance in my church. I loved this. I loved feeling like I was worshipping with my body. But if I had been more aware, I would have been able to acknowledge that I loved feeling graceful and coordinated. I loved this type of movement in my body.
In college, I took a conditioning class. I was intimidated by the dance classes and yet I wanted to get additional exercise - I was already walking regularly around campus. The class...well, it was sort of like PE. There was no real pleasure in what we did and since I wasn't in great condition, most of what was asked of me felt really uncomfortable. There were no instructions about keeping things at your own pace or how to make things more comfortable. And the bodies of most of my classmates did not look like mine.
The tragedy of this class is that one day, I was really getting into and enjoying a game of basketball. I hadn't played basketball for years and since I wasn't on a real team, I could enjoy the feeling of getting the ball and even the competition a bit. I jumped up to block a pass and when I landed, my foot rolled to the side and I went down. It hurt a lot. My teacher thought that I had a sprain and told me to walk it out. I wasn't allowed to use a phone at the sport facility (apparently this was their policy), so I ended up walking 5 blocks on what turned out to be a broken foot to get to a phone. It was awful, and in retrospect, I should have brought a complaint against the sports facility.
I have discovered that moving my body is a challenge for me. I like the feeling in my body after I exercise, but it is always the case that I struggle with movement for the first half hour that I do it. The one exception is swimming. I had to rediscover swimming. I never learned, formally, to swim, but growing up, as I did, in Minneapolis, it was a thing that one learned. I loved the water. I could be strong and mobile in the water. I could be light in the water. When I came to CA about 10 years ago, I took a water aerobics class and I fell in love with the water again. Now I've learned to swim with a snorkel and I'm amazed at how far I can swim...and how good my body feels the whole time.
I've also reclaimed my love of dancing. I'm taking a belly dance class and when I practice at home, I even put on a costume to feel authentic. It's silly, but it gives me pleasure and that's what's important.
It's sad that it's taken me so long to realize that moving my body can give me pleasure. I think that a lot of big folks have lost their memory of this. Our bodies sometimes make this difficult, especially as we age and the longer we go without moving. But moving keeps us strong and supple. It can help us build a better relationship with this body that our culture tells us is ugly or unacceptable.
I encourage you to think about the things that you used to like to do as a child. Did you like to dance or swim? Was playing on the jungle gym, your thing? Wrestling with your dog or doing somersaults? Is there some way that you can do something fun again with your body. Don't think of it as exercise, think of it as a way of playing and finding joy in your body again. I know it sounds silly, but recently I went rolling down a hill with my partner. I haven't laughed so much in such a long time.
Move, shake, dance, laugh, run, ride a bike, swim, walk, wave your arms around...do whatever feels good.
I've always been chubby or overweight or obese (oh, the variety of words that can be used). For the most part, my family was not an active one. There were no camping trips or walks around the lakes. Neither of my parents went jogging or joined a gym. My dad golfed occassionally and there was the yearly trip to go fishing up north, but neither of those were terribly active.
So my model of activity was what we did as kids, playing on our block, or the PE classes in school and playground activities. Either because I was chubby or because I wasn't terribly coordinated, I didn't do well with competitive sports. Run and chase games would sometimes leave me feeling anxious and I would just stop running and let myself be caught.
I enjoyed dancing during PE - the schottishe, the Virginia Reel, square dancing - but the rest of that class was just painful for me. I asked, one time, if I could take ballet classes, but my mother sort of brushed me off. I was, after all, enrolled in soccer. Of course, I hated soccer. I was either one of the few girls on an all-boy team, or when I finally got onto a girls team, I was the worst player and got hopelessly teased.
My dilemma was made worse by the fact that my sister excelled at these things. Or she was good enough and got on good enough teams to seem to excell. She got trophies and there were awards banquets. The tropies for soccer, basketball and golf took up the top shelf of the entertainment center. Those trophies are symbolic, not only of the way that I felt a failure in exercise, but how I felt in constant competition with her...and it doesn't take much to guess who I thought always won.
In high school, I was able to do liturgical dance in my church. I loved this. I loved feeling like I was worshipping with my body. But if I had been more aware, I would have been able to acknowledge that I loved feeling graceful and coordinated. I loved this type of movement in my body.
In college, I took a conditioning class. I was intimidated by the dance classes and yet I wanted to get additional exercise - I was already walking regularly around campus. The class...well, it was sort of like PE. There was no real pleasure in what we did and since I wasn't in great condition, most of what was asked of me felt really uncomfortable. There were no instructions about keeping things at your own pace or how to make things more comfortable. And the bodies of most of my classmates did not look like mine.
The tragedy of this class is that one day, I was really getting into and enjoying a game of basketball. I hadn't played basketball for years and since I wasn't on a real team, I could enjoy the feeling of getting the ball and even the competition a bit. I jumped up to block a pass and when I landed, my foot rolled to the side and I went down. It hurt a lot. My teacher thought that I had a sprain and told me to walk it out. I wasn't allowed to use a phone at the sport facility (apparently this was their policy), so I ended up walking 5 blocks on what turned out to be a broken foot to get to a phone. It was awful, and in retrospect, I should have brought a complaint against the sports facility.
I have discovered that moving my body is a challenge for me. I like the feeling in my body after I exercise, but it is always the case that I struggle with movement for the first half hour that I do it. The one exception is swimming. I had to rediscover swimming. I never learned, formally, to swim, but growing up, as I did, in Minneapolis, it was a thing that one learned. I loved the water. I could be strong and mobile in the water. I could be light in the water. When I came to CA about 10 years ago, I took a water aerobics class and I fell in love with the water again. Now I've learned to swim with a snorkel and I'm amazed at how far I can swim...and how good my body feels the whole time.
I've also reclaimed my love of dancing. I'm taking a belly dance class and when I practice at home, I even put on a costume to feel authentic. It's silly, but it gives me pleasure and that's what's important.
It's sad that it's taken me so long to realize that moving my body can give me pleasure. I think that a lot of big folks have lost their memory of this. Our bodies sometimes make this difficult, especially as we age and the longer we go without moving. But moving keeps us strong and supple. It can help us build a better relationship with this body that our culture tells us is ugly or unacceptable.
I encourage you to think about the things that you used to like to do as a child. Did you like to dance or swim? Was playing on the jungle gym, your thing? Wrestling with your dog or doing somersaults? Is there some way that you can do something fun again with your body. Don't think of it as exercise, think of it as a way of playing and finding joy in your body again. I know it sounds silly, but recently I went rolling down a hill with my partner. I haven't laughed so much in such a long time.
Move, shake, dance, laugh, run, ride a bike, swim, walk, wave your arms around...do whatever feels good.
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