The Fat Athlete

I weigh 87kg, and am 5’4” tall. Or actually, it depends on which leg I stand on… I have one leg longer than the other and have worn a heel lift in my right shoe for over 20 years, so if I stand on my left leg I’m 5’4, or on my right I’m 5’3”.

The medical world calls me ‘obese’, because it measures human beings by the over-simplified means of the BMI, or Body Mass Index, and apart from a few months over the last 30 years, I have been in that category for my entire adult life. 

My weight goes up and down, I have probably tried every method of weight loss known to humans, and I have always struggled with body dysmorphia and disordered eating.  It doesn’t matter for the purposes of this post what the reasons for all of that are, but there are reasons, and they - and their legacy- will be with me for life.  

But I’ve also completed several half marathons, ridden plenty of sportives, kayaked round Scotland, walked up half of the Munros, completed a few triathlons recently, and accomplished a whole lot of other physical things.  I have a Personal Trainer qualification, and a nutritional qualification; I’ve spent years educating myself in sport, movement, nutrition and the psychology of all of those things. 

And yet, I remain ‘overweight’.  In more recent days I have worked hard to change my relationship with food and begun to hate the word ‘overweight’.  It decides for me what weight I should be.  Instead, I have started to think of myself as ‘heavier than I would like to be’.  And why would I like to be a little lighter? Simply because riding and running up hills would be a little easier, and I would be able to become a little faster.  Now, don’t misunderstand me.  I am not a fan of the idea that any size is ok; however, I do have a problem with society’s notion that to be fit & healthy, you have to be thin.  

In my lifetime, I have been a couch potato, and I’ve been a professional sports person- and I’ve been everything in between. I’ve been investigated for medical conditions that keep my weight high, I’ve been very strict with food, and I’ve been the opposite.  But no matter where I am on that journey, I have always felt judged by society. I’ve always felt underestimated, patronised, passed over. I work incredibly hard at achieving physical things- but hard work doesn’t always mean success: sometimes you need the right genes and the right background. 

So why am I writing this? Well, partly to reflect on my own position, and to remind myself of my own values.  But also to acknowledge that this is a journey I will be on for my whole life.  

 

Some days, I’m ok with all of this.  I’m a fighter, I can do it.  And others, I’m most definitely not: I wonder why I bother, when I will never win a race or look amazing (in stereotypical terms) in a finish line photo.  And no matter how hard I work I will probably always struggle to find sports kit to fit me: in manufacturers eyes, fat women don’t do sport. 

But it’s not about the number on the scale, right?  I’ve heard that more often from people who have never had an issue with their weight, than I could possibly wish to count.  That may be so… but when I can put out twice the wattage of someone else on the bike, and still be much slower than them up a hill, then it becomes about a number. 

My body suffers because I’m heavy. I beat myself up more than I should because of it.  I don’t like what I see in the mirror.  And yet, as I get older, I think I may be gradually making peace with it: I am what I am, and I manage to do some cool things, maybe in spite of it, or maybe even because of it.  If it was easy, what would be the point? 

The point, for me, is that I love the sports that I do.  Whether I’m any good at them or not, there is pure joy to be had in moving through a landscape under your own steam, understanding it and being prepared for it.  Taking yourself to places that others cannot or do not go. Yesterday I spent the day in a favourite west coast spot, swimming over a mile in a cold Scottish sea loch with only the starfish & sea urchins for company, and then running into a remote glen under the winter sun. 

So how do I move forward?  In March I will start on the ZOE study: to test my gut, and my physiological responses to certain foods.  I hope that this might finally give me some answers, and allow me to stop guessing, trying to understand my body through everyone else’s rules. But it might not… I will have to wait and see. 

In the meantime, I will keep doing what I do, and getting through each day, trying to ignore the standards by which society judges us all.  But I have one request for the rest of the world: look beneath the surface, and don’t judge a book by its cover.