Old cravings: or, all idols have wooden feet.

Today some of the women I work with have decided to weigh themselves once a week, on a Friday. This information will not be publicised. It's just a small group to help them lose weight. This, for me, is slippy slope territory. I haven't weighed myself for years, and I weigh eleven stones and four pounds. My colleagues, who know nothing of my odd food blip, were shocked I weighed that much. "But we thought you'd weigh about eight". "I can't believe you weigh that much". I was, of course, complimented. Being tall and broad counts for something, and putting on muscle easily, "you must be built solid". But even so, it makes me want to lose weight for next week. I wasn't even doing it with the thought in mind that I'd weigh myself every week; I was curious.

I already know that MC and assorted others are into weight loss. But I found out today that MH is participating in weighing club. This confuses me. My wish to be slender stems from a desire to be respected. I cannot be respected any other way; I must slim, therefore. MH, however, has all the respect she could possibly need. She controls swathes of unruly adolescents, calms, soothes, orders. Is obeyed. There is no deficit- and no one would call her fat, and if anyone ever did in my presence then I'd contradict them immediately. I've got no doubt that she's got a band of followers that would do the same. CW is the same; she's not in the weight loss club, but she makes frequent comments, "you think I'm going to get my fat legs through there?" to a student, "you're so energetic, I know I should lose some weight" to me. But, just as MH has no need, neither does she. She's perfectly well respected, loved and admired without needing to do anything about her appearance. I need to change my weight; I've got nothing else to offer, because I can't be respected and admired. I can't control swathes, not at the moment anyway. That these classroom sorcerers, these magnificent, invulnerable warrior women depend on a scale baffles me. It seems like a regression. They aspire to weigh less, to waste away, to negate themselves. Why? To look younger, or be more aesthetically pleasing. To be more childlike and vulnerable and look delicate; pointless aims, negating all their achievements. I am sure it's nothing to do with fitness. It's as if they're throwing away their experience chasing after something they don't need. This is what I do, not what they do.

They are brilliant not despite of the way they look, but because of it. They maintain a presence in the room; they're not wispy, disposable people that fade into the background or flap into nothingness. They are bright and strong, and noticed. Both put effort into maintaining their appearance, and both are attractive. They are forceful, powerful, perfect bodies. And they want to waste them away.

I know that their aims are probably not as sinister as mine were, and that they're probably not trying to waste away. I just want to tell them that it's not necessary for people like them. I want to tell them to enjoy themselves and chow down on that cake, or ten cakes, or whatever they fancy, because they could be the size of houses, wheeled in on plinths, and they'd still command a room. Chow down and continue being brilliant. All of those things that thin people are supposed to have, the ability to make people stop and stare, the ability to look excellent, are things that these women already possess. It makes me wonder whether I'll ever stop wanting to be thin. Those women awakened a gradual epiphany in me; that you could be a normal size without losing everyone's respect, that you could provoke wonder and be brilliant without needing to have the perfect body. But if they're chasing an ideal, then anyone can slip.

Cross Examination

The valiance post was a description of a friend I know who is maybe an English size fourteen, or size sixteen tops, who I think is beautiful. Her beauty is not an ideal I would attempt to conform to; it is not my own ideal, nor is it hers. She would like to be thinner, I would like to be thinner. As such I do not wish to conform to the ideal of Valiance. I could not; I know that whatever I do I will not be a soft proportioned person, and my face is unlike hers anyway. There is something blunt about my face and tough about my limbs. I am of an athletic build; euphemistically. This means, otherwise, that I am broad shouldered and as such carry excess weight well but have a tendency to look masculine as opposed to feminine. I can handle this. If I was describing myself, what would I say? Well, I too am pale. Masculinity is no bad thing. I am as strong as a piece of steel, flexible and coiled like a spring. Tensile strength is one of my best attributes. Yes, then. I am a sheet of steel that repells the sun, that glints as it shimmers softly over water, that can bend and stretch and do.

I watched TV the other day and four women with normal bodies swam the channel. That they could do that, that their bodies, though aged, were capable of that gave me enormous respect for what my body can do, what its potential is and why I should be neither over nor under loading it with food or subjecting it to constant criticism because it is a useful tool, nothing more and nothing less.