Rollerskied to the gym as I often do in the snowless season. Sociologically interesting crowd in the spinning class this morning. Overwhelmingly female. Seemed like a lot were in the-weekend-wasn’t-as-I-hoped-and-now-I’m-going-to-do-something-about-it mode. For anyone into chubby Scandanavian girls with low self-esteem, this was your party.
As I tried to avoid looking at the painfully anorexic pedalling skeleton two bikes over, this crowd’s body issues gave me pause for reflection. I too have passed that way. Thinking of the body-as-enemy. It’s not doing what I want it to do, so I’ll punish the undeserving thing into submission. I’ll achieve my goals by force or maybe just get my supplementary jollies off masochism.
Happily I’ve made some progress. In the maso-mode my body found sneaky ways to confound me. But when I realised I could never fight past the end of the hurt, I decided I needed to take another tack. So, this past winter, it’s been the body-as-collaborator. The golden rule. Treat it nice and hope it will do the same for me. Eat nice, varied food. Push hard, but listen and back off when needed. Program rest.
So far, so good. Stay tuned.
Le coq à la crête noire 
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