While drinking my morning coffee yesterday, I came across an article in
The Atlantic: "
Vitamin B.S." It's an interview with Catherine Price, author of
Vitamania: Our Obsessive Quest for Nutritional Perfection, during which she and the writer discuss how vitamins came to be, how they're used for marketing by food companies, and whether or not we need them. The history and controversy over vitamins and supplements was interesting, but what struck me most was Price's book title. Our Obsessive Quest for Nutritional Perfection. It may sound naive or just ridiculous, but for the first time I understood that nutritional perfection is a myth.
Every day we are inundated by information and images pertaining to our "health;" a story on NPR about curing/preventing allergies; magazine covers promising the secret to losing that last five pounds; Facebook friends posting about their latest endeavors in crossfit or the paleo diet. It's everywhere! We all buy into it sometimes in one way or another, myself included. What most surprises me, though, is that I bought into the myth that perfection exists. That if I just worked hard enough, I could have glowing skin, luscious locks, and be a size zero. I know! Models are airbrushed, photoshopped, etc, but knowing and believing are two different things! It's a relief to finally believe that the advertised "ideal" is fake.
As a woman living in the United States, it comes as no surprise that I have grown up with my own brand of body-hate. We all have our insecurities. As a kid, I was overweight and not in the cute baby fat way. I was a tank. I was never made fun of, but I was acutely aware of my weight.
I developed a complicated relationship with food, with my own body. At ten years-old I could rattle off how many calories were in most foods (thank goodness I've forgotten most of that!) and much of the food I ate was labeled "low fat/cal" or "diet" versions. I read weight loss articles in magazines and diet books I found lying around the house. I was a sucker for those "This or That" features. You know, the ones that try to shock you with the news that a Wendy's salad actually packs more calories than the grilled chicken sandwich.
I grew fascinated by bones, perhaps because mine own were elusive. I recall standing in line to cross the floor in dance class marveling at shoulder blades and wishing mine were visible too. In all fairness, this fascination is two-fold. Yes, I may have coveted the lithe figures of my friends, but I also used to sit on the floor in my living room looking at the photos in my mom's medical textbooks (Woot!
Grey's Anatmomy!). I like to know how things work and the skeleton was really just another mechanical system to figure out.
Around twelve, I hit puberty and magically lost the weight. I kept, however, the thought processes of my inner fat child. With lots of work and self-reflection (and a healthy dose of yoga), I've come a long way from my insecure childhood. A few experiments with calorie-counting later and I've learned that when I become obsessive I become cranky and hungry and tired. I live in my body more now. I'm aware of it rather than trying to control it.
Throughout my teen and college years, I had the opportunity to get to know some people with wonderful self-esteem and they set great examples for me. I was amazed by a college roommate who didn't find gaining a few pounds soul-crushing. She just shrugged it off with the acknowledgement that once summer hit she'd start running again. It wasn't an issue.
One of the comments I hear most often when talking about Bike & Build and biking cross-country is, "You'll be in such great shape!" Great! I will! I also get variants of it that focus on losing weight. Secretly, I think these things too. I think it will be so great, but I try not to follow that line of thought. That sort of thinking leads me to obsessing over how my body looks. Instead I try to focus on what it can do. It's silly to feel guilty for eating a piece of cake! Food should not cause guilt!
Last week was National Eating Disorder Awareness Week. I saw that a few events were happening but nothing especially compelling. While I've never had an eating disorder, I think it's important to talk about. We need to be able to talk about our own insecurities to overcome them. We need to have the support of our loved ones. For me, now that I'm training for this really awesome physical feat, that means I'm trying to rewire the way I think. When I start restricting my body, I catch myself and opt to take care of it instead (I try at least). After all, to bike 30-100 miles a day you have to fuel your body and give it what it needs.
