Leave My Body Alone
Hey, Spandex.
Yes, you… the one with the mic’d up headset and a mind full of inspirational quotes from your recent 2-day Les Mills training extravaganza:
It’s time for us to talk.
It’s about my body. its boundaries. And your bias.
But first, a little back story:
I walked into your class last week, late (as per usual) and relieved there was a bike left for me to ride. It was not easy to pry myself away from my couch, where I’d been snuggled with my wife and a hot cup of coffee just 15 minutes before, but I managed to do it. I felt motivated by the promise of a post-ride, endorphin-fueled high, so I showed up dialed in and ready to work.
By the third track, I was there. You had done such an incredible job selecting solid music, cueing the class through perfectly-timed transitions, and creating a collective sense of achievement, I hardly noticed the clock on the wall or the sweat pouring off my forehead. I found myself thinking, “God, it is so good to be back.”
But then it happened. You got off your bike and moved into the crowd, determined to drop some Les Mills motivation on anyone who appeared to be waning a bit. Your first unwitting victim was a lovely woman, six bikes to my left, who looked like she might be on the verge of a stroke. You called her out by name and said, ‘C’mon! I know you’ve got more in there. Above the beat. One, two, one, two.”
“Okay,” I thought, “Maybe she actually knows this woman well enough to be two feet from her face, pushing her past what appears to be a pretty healthy limit.” It turns out that was just some misplaced optimism on my part. As you continued to make your way through the room, saddling up to one weary rider after another, you offered witty one-liners like “Mind over matter!” and “You didn’t come here to cheat yourself!”
And by the time you reached the elderly woman in the back of the room and told her to “Pick up the pace,” a disturbing realization began to dawn on me:
“She’s going to do this to me, too.”
And so I closed my eyes, doubled-down on my focus, and hoped you would pick up on the clear nonverbal cue to just leave me alone.
As it turns out, you are great at giving cues, but super shitty at getting them because no more than 30 seconds later, I felt a slight disturbance next to my bike. I slowly opened my eyes, and there you were, big smile, headset firmly attached, ready to …. ummm… motivate me.
“What’s your name?” you asked.
I stared.
“What’s your name,” you asked again, an octave higher and noticeably louder than the first time.
With a heavy eye roll, I answered, “It’s Sarah.”
“Okay, Sarah,” you screamed, “Push harder. One. Two. One. Two. Dig deeper. The only one in the way of you is YOU!”
And my god, I wish I’d had even an ounce of reserve left in my body because if I had, I would have spat some sarcasm in your face, protected my body by honoring its boundaries, and walked out of that class.
But you see in that moment, I had so little left in the tank. By the time I made it into your class and onto that bike, I had survived decades of disordered eating, a sexual assault, and years of substance abuse. I was only just starting to recover, only just beginning to build trust in a body that had managed to keep me alive in spite of my desperate attempts to the contrary. And so when you pushed, I didn’t resist. In fact, I leaned into it.
Because pushing my body to the point of failure is what my mind knows how to do better than any other thing it’s ever done.
Don’t believe me? Just ask my body.
Ask my 16 year-old body… the one I starved for years on end.
Ask my mid-20’s body… the one I permanently injured through the exercise I used as self-punishment.
Ask my 30’s body… the one I numbed with booze because I couldn’t figure out how to take a deep breath without breaking.
And yes, Spandex, I realize you didn’t know any of that. But that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? You didn’t know because you don’t know me.
No, wait. I’m serious here. Repeat it with me. You. Don’t. Know. Me. And you should know me before you tell me what’s in my way. Or whether I can push harder and dig deeper. Or whether your words are likely to harm or help.
So, I know you didn’t know better then, but you sure do now. So do better. Evolve. Understand the position of power in which you find yourself. And leave my body alone.
And yes, I also realize you are a product of diet culture, an archetype of the fitness industry, a pawn in a system that insists on keeping women small.
But you’re also a woman. With a body. And a story.
And the only microphone in the room.
So use it wisely.
And leave my body alone.
And while we’re still talking about things you don’t know, I thought I’d share a little bit about what life has been like since I left your class last week.
You see, for me, you little nudge was like a gust of wind when I was already unsteady on my feet. It was a kick in the gut when the wound was still open. It set off a cascade of thoughts that instantly built a dangerous mental construct and a deep sense of distrust. When I chose to push my body to perform for you, I broke a pact with me… a pact that is required for my survival. And that is a loss I’ve been grieving every day since.
But rest assured, I’ll be back on that bike just as soon as I’ve done the work to ensure that the next time you come between me and my body, you will not be the last man standing.
We will.
She and I, we know this battle. We’ve been here before. And while it is her job to help me survive, it is my job to protect her. And I will not fall down on that job again.
So with that reckoning in mind, I’ve got an idea, Spandex… I’ll get back on my bike if you’ll get back on yours. You will leave my body alone and lay off the old lady at the back of the room while you’re at it. And then you can ride with the rest of us. You and I both know the whole damn thing is better when we’re doing it together. So, let’s do it together. And see if we can make a space that’s safe for my body and your body and every body in between.