New Blog!

I’ve been terrible at keeping up with this blog and that’s for three very good reasons. Reason the first: I’m a busy, busy girl! Reason the second, I’ve fallen head over heels in love with my bike, so I’ve not been running. Finally, I’ve realized I want to keep going in the direction this blog started to take: feminist media and social analysis. So, I present my new blog, The Grandest of Gaucheries. I’m super excited about it, as feminist analysis and healthy sexuality are my two passions. Hope to see you there!

Movement as Liberation

Taken from www.wellness-springs.com

Moksha is Sanskrit for liberation. It’s also the type of yoga that I practice. Done in a heated room with gentle teachers, it allows you the freedom to not only get deeply into poses, but also to take your cues from your body, leaving the external world behind.

When I’m pouring sweat, deep in my 10th downward dog of the day, nothing exists outside of my burning muscles and controlled breath.

I’m not questioning if my body is capable, I’m not questioning if my body fits some(one’s) definition of attractive, I’m not questioning if my worth is somehow tied up in my physical appearance (for the record, it’s not. I know we all know this intellectually, but it can be damn hard to truly accept and LIVE this fact). The only thing I’m questioning is when the damn pose will be over!

When I’m in the studio, I am completely in my body. There is no gap between self (mind) and body. I am embodied. I am not a mind apologizing for a body that doesn’t quite meet my (or anyone’s) expectations, I am not a mind shaming itself for its failure to look like the woman in front of me in the grocery line, the woman on the magazine cover, the ridiculous ideal woman that has nothing to do with my body, my life or my wishes. I am just me. Through and through.

I seriously doubt there’s a single woman out there (in the West, at least) who doesn’t have some hang-ups about her body. Who isn’t, though she may be trying mightily not to, trying–and failing–to meet society’s unattainable standards. I know I do, even though I am too smart, and too educated, and too much of a God-damned feminist to accept those standards as anything but patriarchal bullshit.

Movement–that is, hardcore, challenging, sweaty exercise–is the tool with which I strike back against these bullshit standards. My body, rather than being an enemy which always fails to perform, is my instrument. My body, rather than being the site of an internal war, is where I find peace. Where I find solace, where I find home.

So go out there and find your tool. Find that piece that lets you embody the strong, fierce warrior that you are. The piece that quiets the over-thinking mind and unites it with the underappreciated body. Maybe it’s running or dancing or painting or singing. Whatever it is that lets you find yourself at home in your body is what you should be doing.

Apoligies and a new plan

Well, every month or so it would seem I come back to apologize about staying away too long and promising to do better. So it seems a little silly to do it yet again, but here I am!

My plan is to write a minimum of once a week, detailing at least one run a week and writing about body acceptance, the beauty myth, etc. I do wonder if this new direction makes the blog title a slight misnomer, as it will be focused less on running (as will I, I’ve decided to really take advantage of the fact that I can take unlimited yoga classes, though I will still be aiming for at least two runs per week) and more on total body fitness and feminist critiques of the way we treat women’s bodies in our culture, but I like the name, damn it! So for now the name shall remain. If it seems to be veering too far away I will rethink it all.

Running as Self-Care

Recently I did a set of workshops at the amazing organization where I both work and volunteer doing vital, emotionally demanding work. The one thing that was emphasized again and again and again is the importance of self-care.

Self-care is something you do only for yourself. You do it for your emotional well-being, your mental health and your physical health because, as we all know, they’re all interconnected. You do these things on a regular basis, as a way of checking in with yourself and nurturing all those sensitive, vulnerable, wonderful parts of you that take a battering from work, society, relationships, Christmas shopping, depressing news and anything else that saps you. The wonderful thing about self-care is that it is entirely individual. We each have our own trigger points, and we all have our own soothing routines.

One important note about self-care: self-care is positive. If you are doing things to self-medicate that you don’t feel good about, or are having a negative effect on your life, that isn’t self-care, and you need to address that and find more positive, loving ways to care for yourself.

Some of my favorite methods of self-care are:
-a nice mug of tea–is there anything tea can’t make better??
-sending a silly text message to my wonderful brother
-turning on an upbeat, catchy song and getting lost in it
-yoga
-running!

My last few weeks have been hectic–too many papers to count, even more all-nighters, stress-stress-stress!

One night, in the thick of a paper that was not going well, I realized I needed to take a minute to myself. I needed to remind my body, my mind and my heart that everything was okay, and would be okay. And I needed to work off the nervous energy and frustration that had been building up in me all week. So at midnight on a Tuesday night I headed out into the pouring rain with no distance or destination in mind.

I ran until I was gasping then turned around and ran back. I ran until the fear had been beaten out of me by the battering rain. I ran until I could think again. I ran until I was me again.

This single act of self-care had ripple effects. I came home and showered then–though the stress centre in my brain was demanding I keep writing–went immediately to sleep. I listened to my body and honoured it (and how often am I able to sleep right after running?! I needed it.). The next day, still exhausted, I was debating turning in a sub-par paper or taking the late penalty and turning in something to be proud of the next day. At the urging of a very wise and wonderful friend I did just that. I slept, ate a nutritious meal and finished my paper a day late.

And, despite the docked marks, I aced the paper!

Take care of yourselves, my friends.

Shaking Cultural Definitions of Beauty

Looking, tonight, at Baroque nudes I was struck by how familiar these women’s bodies were.

The woman to the left has a soft tummy, thighs and pillowy arms. In short, she looks just like me. And she is gorgeous.

Everything about her flies directly in the face of what we’re told, today, is beautiful, attractive, hot. She’s soft, sensuous and on display, yet not overtly sexual.

This is not a woman who sucks in her stomach, skips lunch or hides her body to meet narrowly defined concepts of beauty.

She lives life to the fullest: eating, loving, experiencing all the joy there is out there.

A few weeks ago, I was under the spell of (probable) swine flu, feeling awful, miserable and ugy. Sitting on the bus coming from downtown, rather than feeling sick, flu-y and congested, I felt fat. I felt fat, ugly and unlovable.

How can it be that my default in times of stress and duress is to feel ugly? Fat? Perpetually unlovable?

That person is not me. I am self-possessed, self-confident and self-loving.

And I’m smart. Too smart to buy into these unattainable (even by those who attain them!) standards. Yet, in moments of weakness I do. All of my kindness, joy, sarcasm, intelligence, passion fly out the window and I am left alone, naked and fat.

What the hell are we doing, raising our daughters, mothers, lovers, friends to feel ugly and alone? To feel their worth comes solely from their fuckability?

Shouldn’t we be teaching our girls (and boys) that worth comes from strength, kindness, wit, passion and joy? That bodies are a home, not a prison?

I believe change comes in ones and twos. One person reading this, recognizing themselves in it and refusing to play the game anymore sows the seed for a million changed lives. That one person will go into their life and teach their children, friends, lovers that bodies are for pleasure. And healthy bodies, be they soft or hard, are beautiful bodies.

And, most importantly, that worth comes from what we do and who we are, not whether we fit into transient classifications of fuckable.

I’ll leave you with two more beautiful bodies: Rembrandt’s Bathsheba and Kasia Suma’s nude.

Getting Back On The Horse.

Well, perhaps a month is a bit long of a gap between runs if I’m intending to become a runner. Unfortunately I was waylaid by a pretty damn bad sinus infection early in the month, that seemed to linger for a while. Then the stress of finding a new place in a new city kicked in and all my time was spent towards househunting and goodbying before the move. But I’m here in my new living room in my new city, I’ve just completed my first run in way too long and I feel fantastic!

Goal: 2km
Actual: 2km

I kept it purposely short, as this is my first time out in a while. While 2km would have been easy peasy just a month ago, it certainly wasn’t today! In fact, it bordered on masochistic today. But I kept going, telling myself that not only had I chosen to be out here, but that I was lucky to be able to be out here. Plus, I’ve been craving the pavement for the last month, there was no way I was going to give up before I was even halfway! With these thoughts spurring me on I got to the 3/4 mark, where suddenly it felt like a weight had been lifted. I wasn’t feeling good (yet) but I wasn’t suffering anymore. As I got to my planned ending point the endorphins kicked in full-force and I felt AMAZING! A few minutes of squats, lunges and other such joys and I was done.

Walking back I was tempted to run further, I felt so good. But a few steps told me the wise woman stops now, on a high, rather than half a kilometer down the road cursing the idea of ever running again.

Longest Run Ever!

I’ve been slacking–both on posting and running. I have both good and not-so good reasons for that but I live in an excuse-free zone these days. And (as mentioned in a previous post) a “should” free zone. I’ve been busy and feeling under the weather, and it’s been hot as Hades here, so I haven’t been running. Not once, though, did the thought “I should go for a run” cross my mind. Several times I had “I wish I could go for a run” or “I want to go for a run”, and that is almost alien to me. Running for the joy of running. Running because my body feels good when it’s in motion. Eschewing the guilt-induced and -inducing “should” mentality has finally let me find a peace with myself. Try it!

My run was a week ago, but it was so grand I want to write a quick blurb, just to capture it in time.

Goal: 5 km
Reality: 5+ km.

This is officially the longest run I’ve ever completed. It may not sound like much, but for a girl who once couldn’t run one lap without stopping to walk it’s monumental. I was in Victoria, my soon-to-be new city, visiting family and felt the itch. Let me tell you, Victoria is a beautiful city to run through. It’s full of beautiful gardens, interesting houses, parks and beach trails.

This was not an easy run. It was one full of stiches and faltering steps, but I was determined to run that bloody 5 k! At around 4 I was desperate to stop, but I kept up a mantra of “not every run’s going to be a good one, but you’re doing it.” And that got me through. That got me to my farthest distance, and for that I am very proud of myself.

I think that lesson is an important one we often overlook. Sometimes you get in the groove and you feel good and strong and like you could kick whatever ass life throws at you. Other times you feel like you’re slogging through mud and would give anything to give up. But those runs are the most important ones. Those are the ones where you prove to yourself that you’re going to run anyway. When it hurts and it’s boring and you’re miserable and hot (or cold) you’re going to run because you’re a runner damn it!

A certain percentage of your runs are going to suck hard. Accept that and run through it. At the end of those runs you’ll feel prouder than after an easy run in which you cover twice the distance.

Run-July 12, 2009.

Goal: 3 km.
Reality: ~4 km.

Last night I got home from work wanting to run but sure I wouldn’t. I threw on my new running shorts and an old t-shirt anyway, just in case. After half an hour or so of vegging out I decided, if I’m going to go, now’s the time.

So I headed out with a vague route in mind. Well, I threw that away once I started running. I got to the imagined halfway point and said, I feel great, just keep going. So I ran and ran and ran some more. Perhaps 4 km doesn’t sound like much, but for someone who never got beyond 2.5 k runs, to do 4 on a whim is a big step. I was running slow, slow, slow, but that’s the pace my body wanted. I could feel a choice presented to me: keep running slowly and enjoy it or pick up the pace and hate it, cutting the run short. Put that way, slow and steady is the choice for me! Several times I was tempted to kick it up a notch, but, listening to my body’s cues, I kept it slow and gentle and treated the run not as exercise but as time alone with myself in the cool evening air.

Coming through the homestretch in a route I’ve never taken before I ran over the highway on a deserted overpass. The wind hitting me paired with the view of the highway turning into the bridge, with just lights coming and going was spectacular. A view I couldn’t have ever imagined wanting, but one that made my night. As I finished my run I had a huge smile plastered to my face. A job well done.

 

Note to self: don’t run past McDonald’s again. The smell is indescribably awful.

Listening to Your Body.

 In the past, taking a few days off has always been a guilt inducing experience. If I’m not running it’s because I’m “weak”, “lazy” or “undisciplined”. What an awful way to speak to yourself, eh? I would never, ever, ever say that to a friend who was taking a few days off. Those words wouldn’t even enter my mind.

 

If running is to be a joyful commitment to health, guilt has no place in it. If my body says it’s too tired (different from “I don’t feel like it”) or if the day is just too hot, I am, in fact, doing myself a favour by forgoing that day’s run.

And sure, some days I get home from work and it’s late and all I really want to do is lie on the couch and watch Dexter. And some days I do that. Should I be running even though I’m dead tired? Maybe. But I really don’t want the word should to control my health, my body or my running. Should is a word we get from the outside. If I want to look like [insert popstar here] I should go for a run. I had ice cream at lunch, I should go for a run. If I want to look how society tells me I ought to (a synonym for should), I should go for a run. And those shoulds quickly turn into “have to”. If I’m going to the beach next week I have to run every day before it.

You know what? Fuck “should”! I WANT to run. It makes me feel strong and powerful and feminine and alive. There’s no room for shoulds in my running life anymore.

Small Goals

Second run, July 7, 09.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved to run in the rain. Even at my least fit, least healthy, most unmotivated points, I’ve loved to run in the rain. I don’t mean a sprinkle, though. I mean a torrential downpour. Where you’re battered by every drop, cooled by every drip, and know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is what it means to be alive. Every inch of you is hot, wet, panting, straining, rejoicing, in this ultimate of experiences.

So when I woke up to rain today, I knew today’s would be a good run. Of course, today has been one of those weird days where it’s pouring one minute, then not a drip the next. Drizzling a few minutes later, then pounding the pavement. Each time the rain came down hard, sideways, my heart would quicken just a touch. I’d feel that familiar longing to be out in the rain, loving every step. But every time I came back (after getting changed, brushing my teeth, etc.) the rain would be gone, taking with it my chance for the ultimate run.

The next time it started I said to myself, you’ve gotta go while the going’s good. And, I kid you not, I had a smile on my face, a little dance in my step as I walked out the door, down the stairs and across the street to begin warming up. “I’m a runner!” I said to myself.

Goal: 3 k
Reality: 3 k 

I started strong. Feeling good, breathing easily. And  maintained it past the midway point. By then I had just a teeny drizzle to cheer me on.  Not what I was hoping for, but I can’t complain. Running through the woods, along the river after a good rain brings with it a smell unlike any other. A fresh, clean, vibrant smell that reminds you we’re part of nature. For better, for worse, we will never escape our longing to be outside.

But then my step faltered. My legs felt like lead, my lungs wheezy, my brain tired. This is the point, as a beginner, where it is all too easy to give up, to give in. Too many times I’ve let myself walk at this point, let myself off the hook, finished my run on a down note. No, no. Not today. You wanna be a runner, girl? You gotta run! So I ran. With teeny, tiny goals in mind. Run to the next sign, then re-evaluate. Made it! Run to the playground. If you really need to stop you can stop. This got me almost to the end of my run. About 50 yards short of my finish line I had two choices: stop, or sprint. And I sprinted, baby, my God did I sprint! Heart pumping, lungs heaving, legs burning, I gave every last ounce of energy I had to those few yards.

And so I ended strong, proud, and running.