The natural habitat of my people (Photo credit: soilse)
I read the most wonderful rant on the PaleoPlan blog about body image, and what it takes to achieve your ideal body image, and why you need to take your genetic predisposition into account. As someone with the build of an Irish bar maid (wide shouldered and big hipped), I know I’ll always be at a disadvantage at speed-based sports, and feel much more more in my element in strength-based pursuits. I add muscle pretty well, I suppose—you just can’t see it because my body enjoys lining itself with fat; it’s like a metabolic hobby. But I still pursue triathlon because I get a high from it that lifting weights doesn’t give me. My athletic manifesto goes thusly: I like being outside, doing stuff. Anyway, I saw the race photos from Zooma and cringed because of the undeniable doughiness on display. Then I thought: fuck that, I’m going to focus on how proud I am of my performance in that race. I made a HUGE breakthrough in that race, running longer than I ever have with greater joy than ever. And I’m trying to focus on the central lesson of this PaleoPlan blog rant:
Stop being so afraid of your body. It’s there as a tool for you.
That posting links to another excellent musing on the topic of why fit women don’t necessarily look like fitness models. This extended rant details all the crazy lengths that fitness models have to go to appear they way they do on camera, including being born a genetic freak (tough to pull off in an after-market scenario), roiding it up, and eating brown rice and chicken breasts for 20 weeks out of the year. Gack. I’d rather just be doughy, sincerely. One life, one body; let’s all just relax and enjoy ourselves. Go outside, do stuff!
Roof Pig! Most Unexpected. 