Hello, body.
You amaze me.
Let’s not bandy words. I’ve treated you badly.
There were the years my diet was dreadful and I never exercised. All that weight I piled on after school. You were young, you had all that energy, but even so, nothing could have taken that abuse for long. You suffered.
My dad piled the weight on round his middle, and kept it right to the end of his life. And when we worked together, we shared diets. I followed his lead.
No, that’s not fair. I was much worse.
Jars of Nutella with a spoon, in 10 minutes. Packet after packet of biscuits. Litres of full-fat Coke. Greasy pastries. Ton after ton of fat-drenched carbs. No clue about nutrition. No clue about exercise. I don’t want to think about your cholesterol level. I don’t want to think about your blood pressure. Or my first day of my walking holiday in Austria in 1993, that first agony-filled day when I hit my physical limits and they were absolutely nowhere near where I thought they were. (And I’m sorry I drowned those sorrows in chocolate. Hey. It all took time, OK?)
So I’m sorry for those years. I’m sorry your back still plays up. I’m amazed your stomach isn’t a mass of stretch marks. (Seriously, how did you recover from that?) But I’m sorry you have those stretch-marks under your arms where I cluelessly tried to weight-train the flab away. I was stupid. You bore the brunt.
But I’ve tried to make amends. I’m working hard – and listening hard, too.
You’ve been good to me beyond my wildest dreams. You’ve slimmed down when I’ve wanted you to, you’ve muscled up when I’ve needed it. You’re tough. I don’t deserve how tough you are. I’m walking 40 miles a week and you’re taking it in your stride (I made a little joke there – hope you appreciate it).
I deserve less.
But since I’m lucky enough to have you as you are right now, I intend to put you to good use.
Because, listen up: you’re a big part of my plans. With a certain level of physical toughness, I can travel like I plan to. I can cycle the whole of Sustrans Route 1, like I dearly long to. I can walk the Pennine Way and the Appalachian Trail. I can walk and walk and walk. (And I can do lots of other things too, which are frankly between you and me).
In some ways, you’re a funny old thing. Your big nose, and the way it bends off to one side. The gap between your front teeth. The way your eyes can go different directions at the same time. The way your skin reddens and puckers at the least scratch from a cat. The way you’ve developed two small, darkly mottled patches over each cheekbone, like you’re permanently sporting black eyes. (The doc says it’s just this). You’re an odd bod. But I’ve grown to love having you around.
(Oh, and I forgive you for the hair-falling-out thing. I’m over that now. We’re good).
Despite all the crud I threw into you in my early twenties (if you’re a temple, I defiled you) – you’ve given me a second chance at having the life I want.
And no, I won’t blow it this time.
Thank you.
…..
Inspired by Christine Garvin’s Ode To My Body.
Image: W J (Bill) Harrison.
Hooray! This made me want to put down the Nutella jar myself. The amazing thing about the human body is its ability to heal itself – someone told me that once when I was recuperating from 10 broken bones. He was right; the body is a tough old broad. It’s amazing what it can do.
Nutella jars aren’t designed to be put down when they’re still less than empty. Otherwise they catch fire and explode with the force of 50 Hiroshimas. I read this in a magazine once, or maybe dreamed it – anyway, my point is, if there’s a jar of Nutella in your hand, you *have* to empty it into your face before you can continue with your life.
This is why I never, ever, ever buy Nutella. Ever.
Well, nearly never ever.
Well, *nearly* nearly.
Recuperating from 10 broken bones? Ye godfathers. I need the rest of that story, please.
(There’s a jar of Nutella in it for you if you tell me the whole thing).
It’s kind of a hell of a story, but the short version is: it totally fucking sucked but I lived to tell the tale and now I dance in 5 inch heels.
Since you’re being coy and only giving me the Abstract for this “hell of a story”, I’m only allowing you a smear of Nutella.
If you want to collect it, you’ll have to send me a slice of toast for me to put it on.
How about a Hob Nob?
Hey Mike,
Loved reading your ode. Yep, many of us have abused our bodies, even when they’ve been so good to us. Glad you were able to give it a shout out of praise and thanks. Hope more people do
And thanks for the inspiration. Nice idea. And so I couldn’t resist adapting (read: stealing) it for myself.
I think we often treat our bodies like our gadgets. When they’re working correctly, they’re merely adequate, sufficient for us to function. And when they’re not working, they’re stupid, crappy, letting us down, a rip-off.
But every day, our bodies do the seemingly impossible, all by themselves, unasked, unrewarded, tirelessly. Every day. All those functions working in harmony. All those processes, papering over the cracks in our treatment of our own bodies, making up the shortfalls, forgiving and compensating without (much) recrimination, without resentment.
True friendship, that.
Awesome. Okay, first you made me feel bad about sitting on my ass all day at a computer, even if it is in a super-cool motorhome and eventually we’ll make it to hiking the alps one day (or at least thinking about hiking while looking at it real close on Google Earth), but then you gave me hope for future redemption. But that’s bad, because I shouldn’t take for granted that I can always redeem myself later.
Now look what you’ve gone and done…
I think you’re in Cornwall at the moment…? Perfect hiking territory, that.
Sitting at computers all day…vocational hazard. Me too. And for anyone who puts pen to paper / finger to keyboard. Problem.
(But, with all hi-tech problems come hi-tech solutions…like all the apps cropping up at Lifehacker that are designed to push you away from the computer for a while, either putting messages on-screen telling you to bugger off for a while, or pulling the plug on your internet connection for a predefined period).
I think you’re due an Ode To A Motorhome. Just sayin’.
Yeah, that’s a good’un. We try to get out on our endearingly vintage bikes (the ones that make it a struggle going up even the most invisibly inclined slope, ergo good exercise) every now and then, but it’s a little hard what with the raging obsession to write code and do whatever mysterious voodoo Katherine gets up to…
Ode to a motorhome: Check! http://michael.tyson.id.au/2010/07/24/nettles-birthday/ Well, more or less. I mean, I didn’t apologise for driving her into a wall once, but I think we’ve both put that behind us.
That’s a damn fine lifestyle you have developing there. I like.
And it’s the plan for the forseeable future? Just keeping going?
I loved this! Really fantastic.
And Nutella in 10 minutes, eh? I am impressed. Will need to work on my skillz.
Thanks, Leigh.
The trick, my memory tells me, is to wolf it down before the stomach-wrenching nausea hits, but not so fast that it clags up your throat the same way mashed potato can do, and chokes you to a horrible, sickly death.
I’m presuming I used to do it for fun. On paper, well, that looks rather unlikely.
Too many tubs of mint chocolate chip ice cream justified because it’s a “girls’ night in”.
Too many glasses of wine because…well, just because. (There’s always something to celebrate).
Too many times I’ve said “you only live once” before doing something that would inherently increase my chance of dying, or at least living miserably for a long time.
And too many years as a dancer, masochistically abusing my body to achieve the “perfect form”. (This alone has aged my body an additional 10 years over my chronological age).
“SHEESH!” I say to all this! Be gone! My body is my temple. I will love it….by loving everything in moderation. This, I hope will be my ticket to a long happy healthy relationship with my body that means minimal sacrifice and minimal abuse simultaneously.
But really, Mike: full-fat Coke? Even I had limits. That’s disgusting. I mean, everybody knows that reduced-fat Coke tastes better. Didn’t you get the memo?
Jeez.
Alas, Nora, I don’t think I’m actually in the Address Book for these memos of Really Obvious Stuff that get sent around. It’s not the first time that such documentation has failed to reach me.
Yes, a good point you made there: the “you only live once” argument doesn’t work so well when you use it in bulk. Because it’s only valid as a one-off, not only in itself but *also with everything else included*. So, “I’ve never tried squirting two cans of whipped cream into my mouth at the same time just to see if I can eat it fast enough” isn’t valid if, yesterday, you tried it with two squeezy bottles of maple syrup. Yes, whipped cream isn’t syrup. But no, that doesn’t excuse it. The calorie counter is still running.
I realise I’m highly guilty of falling into this intellectual trap.
Moderation. You nailed it. That’s the one.
Although having said that, when you’re here next week, we’re going here: http://www.bettys.co.uk/ . And moderation ain’t really their thing.
How did you know about the whipped cream/maple syrup incident? Who told you?!?!
Re – Betty’s: Ooh! Yum. Remember…I said EVERYTHING in moderation. It strikes me that Betty can handle a little bit ‘o’ everything…and if we stay there long enough, so can we.
Fantastic post! Honest, cute, playful, repentant, appreciative, which, I suppose, is the only true tone to take with one’s body, the most intimate of friends. Really great read, thanks for sharing. (:
You’re too kind, Juliane.
Yes, agreed. It’s the only way to approach your body (er, as it were – that sounds like a very difficult yoga position). I’ve spent years not just treating it badly with junk and lack of exercise, but blaming it too – and that’s helped neither of us in the long run. So I guess I’m taking a bit of responsibility for it nowadays – and that’s proving much more effective…
And I’m trying not to kick myself for failing to look after my health before my late 30s. Hard to do, at times. But I’ve been lucky. I honestly should be a wreck.
Cannot for the life of me imagine you being overweight and unactive. Awesome post!
That’s praise from the praiseworthy. Thank you.
I don’t have any photos of myself from back then, but I do have a few kicking round from 2000, when I came to York to study Archaeology…and even then, I was, well, chubby is probably the work.
But it wasn’t so much the weight as the total lack of fitness. If right now I was like I was back then, I wouldn’t be able to walk to work every day. Bit scary, that.