Friday, 9 February 2018

Innocent Blubberboy

Last week, while at the gym, I got caught up in my loose trousers, fell face-forward onto the treadmill upon which I was jogging, bashed my knee, and then got rolled off the treadmill, catching my hand in the process. Trainers dragged me to the side and tried to send me to hospital, but since nothing was broken, I insisted I was okay and limped home.

Exercise régime going well then, ILB?

I really dislike exercising. I'm not good at any of it - I mean, yes, I'm a fairly strong swimmer when I need to be, I'm an adequate dancer if you ask the right people, and I can jog for a while (yes, jog. People have forgotten that word, substituting "running" in its place. I'm trying to bring it back, refusing firmly to be one of those twats that goes "running" on a daily basis) without dying of heart failure. But I don't like it. It takes time and effort, it hurts, and I don't feel the satisfaction that everyone else in the universe seems to claims to.

So why do I do it?

Because, really, I'm seriously unhappy with my body shape. I've been exercising semi-regularly for a while now (I'm a member of a gym, for Luigi's sake!) and I still don't appear to have lost any weight. I looked at my face in the mirror yesterday and noticed a complete lack of chin, something flabby hanging there that wasn't always present. I've been jogging and cycling, but don't feel any fitter; I do ab crunches, but can't see my abs; I swim, but I still get out of breath doing one length of breaststroke and have to scull on my back in order to get back to the shallow end.

I keep doing it, but I'm not feeling any difference, and I'm certainly not seeing any.

I'd feel better about it, were I not so worried about my image. And I'd feel better about my image were it not for comparison. And I know I shouldn't be comparing myself to anyone else, but that's what I do.

Next month, I'm going to Eroticon. Eroticon, for those of you who haven't gone, is full of absolutely beautiful people. 'Con goers are stunning - everyone looks fabulous, radiant even, surrounded by a heady glow of body positivity that we should all be indulging in, but I've never been able to possess. While ILB fits in like a hand in glove (well, he's part of the community, right?), his body is failing him. It doesn't match up to all the confident, sexual people who are both physically flawless by whatever standard and positive about it.

It makes me feel sick. I feel inadequate, unattractive, and undesirable.

This isn't what I'm meant to do. I've never given that much attention to physical appearances - not least of all my own. I scoffed at people in secondary school who put all their value on hair gel and face creams, and I continue to question the wisdom of those who wash their hair every day. I've never thought of myself as attractive - I've been told so by many people, mainly cisgender, heterosexual, female people - but now I'm making an effort, it's not doing anything.

I'm just sweating, that's all I'm doing. I'm tiring myself out, I'm making myself hurt, and I'm sweating like a very sweaty person who sweats, and nothing else happens. I don't feel better about myself - I feel worse. Like I'm doing something, but not enough, whatever "enough" is, or I am doing enough and something else is cancelling it out, like my diet or my slow metabolism.

Whatever it is, my goal this time last year was to lose enough weight to feel better about my shape by the time February rolled around in 2018. It's now February 2018 and I haven't changed. I'm big and I'm getting bigger, I feel very unhealthy, and some of my clients the other day called me fat, so as encouraging as my girlfriend is, there's got to be some truth in it.

I don't really know where I'm going with this. I just needed to vent and this was an ideal place to do so. But if you see me at any time soon, have a look at my eyes. They're the only part of me I'm comfortable with... and if you see them sparking with tears, don't be alarmed. I'm probably just not feeling like I'm worthy of your attention.


Mrs Fever said...

"I'm sweating like a very sweaty person who sweats, and nothing else happens." - I *so* relate!

I enjoy specific athletic activities, but I do NOT like to exercise.

And the 'something else canceling out my efforts' thing? Yes. Sigh.

This may or may not be helpful, but as a fellow low-metabolite and unenthusiastic exerciser: I did a bunch of research on calories at the beginning of 2017, which helped me set achievable dietary goals. I set time and calorie caps for myself (no calories after 7pm, only _____ number of calories allowed per day), based on my goal weight, without a bunch of detailed limitations or restrictions. It worked; I dropped weight.

(To be clear, I am NOT giving advice - is there anything more obnoxious than unsolicited advice? - I'm just sharing. I know full well how frustrating it can be!)

Sending you good vibes for all things body-positive.


Innocent Loverboy said...

Hey - thanks for commenting, and by extension, for being kind. I try to make a point of blogging about what's important to me good or bad; some bloggers would leave this stuff out, and considering some of the comments I usually get, I can kind of see why.

I genuinely can't diet. I don't have the emotional capacity to do so - my mother does the whole mathematical thing of time goals and calorie counts (up to the point of having a hand-drawn graph on the wall; she is a retired maths teacher, so you can kind of see where she gets that). I'm not really able to do that: my gastrointestinal condition causes me incredible pain and a loss of both fluid and solids on a fairly regular basis; my depression also causes me to comfort-eat.

I haven't mentioned this because it's no longer a thing, but when I was in my late teenage years, I started to develop bulimia, which thankfully didn't have any lasting effects, but I only stopped making myself throw up because it "wasn't working". I don't binge-eat, nor do I gorge on unhealthy stuff; I'm also a devout vegetarian, so I don't eat fatty red meat, etc., but my diet isn't brilliant. It's a normal diet, but I'm not burning any of it off, which is where the problem lies.

So yes, I need to exercise. It's the only thing left (which wouldn't cost an obscene amount of money and wouldn't be anything more than a temporary fix, like a gastric bypass, liposuction or LighterLife). I last went on Tuesday for a swim, steam room session, and sauna (followed by a shower in which I used shower gel marketed for girls because fuck gendered marketing); I haven't been since then because of my continuous lack of sleep rendering me almost incapable of moving in the mornings, and work in the afternoons.

I also can't go to the gym without my tracksuit bottoms, and I've no idea where those are.

But thank you for relating, and for your good vibes.

Ironically, less than two hours after writing this post, my girlfriend arrived and saw me in my new glasses. She has since spent every waking second assuring me that I look incredibly sexually attractive in glasses, and although she probably has to say that, even I have to admit that I look at least clever in them, and that helps, to some degree.

Maybe I should just send my head and chest to Eroticon and leave the rest at home...