For as long as I can remember, being overweight has weighed on me emotionally and mentally. My body has been a barrier to me partaking in activities that I want to partake in, or wearing clothes I like because they aren’t “appropriate” for a body like mine. There are and always have been two distinct facets of this never-ending internal battle. First, there is the constant push and pull of the healthy and the unhealthy; should I stay in bed or go to the gym, chocolate cake or kale salad? These are what I like to call tangible changes: exercising, eating healthy, etc. Second, there are the internal changes that are arguably more essential to my sanity in which I focus on ensuring that I am not indefinitely confined, by my own mental strife, to a place of discontentment and embarrassment.

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Let’s start with that first concern, the tangible changes that I can make. I joke that if it isn’t in my Google Calendar, then it is not going to happen. But, in all seriousness, calendars and temporal accountability has been crucial for me throughout my fitness/health/weight loss/whatever you want to call it—journey.  

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I could write a fucking epic detailing the different techniques, programs, diets, etc that I have cycled through since I was around 13-years-old. Instead, I want to focus on right now, because the entire concept of routine has never dissolved so speedily as it has in the past month or so. As far as “getting it” goes, I was pretty darn close before the world went to shit. At the start of second semester, I was excited to begin on a new fitness path. I started seeing a personal trainer at the Intramural Gym Building once a week. On the other days of the week, I had a personalized fitness program that guided my gym workouts. I decided to start small, with a goal of working out 4 days per week, including my weekly meeting the trainer. The first thing that I decided was essential to actually maintaining this routine, was that it would obviously have to go in my calendar.

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Monday, I would go spinning with my friends at 10 am every week. My friends and the financial burden of overpriced workout classes held me accountable to show up. Also, I enjoyed it, so it didn’t feel like as much of a chore as working out has tended to in the past.

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In addition to that, I would allocate four days of the week to the personal training program. With some variation, my schedule always looked something along the lines of: Tuesday: leg day; Wednesday: break; Thursday: personal training; Friday: ab day; Saturday: break; Sunday: arm day.

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I decided to lean into my insomnia and began waking up around 8/8:30 to go to the gym. For anyone who has known me for over a year, would look at me and say “who are you and what have you done with Emma.” I guess my response would be, that I finally decided to take my life into my own hands. I had been berated for years to be fit from external factors, including my parents, but more impactful is the societal factors that perpetuate an unattainable (at least for me) ideal of beauty. For the first time, my decision to exercise and eat healthily was coming 100% from me. It was not the result of being guilt-ridden, or that of self-hatred, but solely my desire to be the best person I can be. Your life is your choice.

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It was actually working; I was eager to go to the gym and felt bleh when I didn’t. The first few weeks were hard; I was constantly sore and exhausted all the time. I thought exercise was supposed to give you energy, not drain all of it and at any other time in my life, I would take this as a sign that it just wasn’t working and give up. But, alas, here I was, trekking to the IM Building in single-digit weather. This was about me, it wasn’t about anyone else, and that seems to be the biggest difference between today and all the times in the past.

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Thus, you can imagine that the one time I was finally pulling my shit together, I was pretty damn pissed that this whole pandemic thing threw a wrench in my plans. If I did believe in God, this would seriously test that belief. You mean to tell me that the first time I really seem to be hitting a stride, you hit us with a literal plague (at least it is timely with Passover) that makes it nearly impossible for me to maintain some semblance of routine.

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Now Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday all blur for me. I know what day of the week it is probably 50% of the time. I am lucky to have means of exercising in the confines of my own home, and while I have done everything that I can to maintain a routine, my calendar is no longer able to hold me accountable in the same way. And let’s be honest, why would I use a calendar when I have literally nothing to do.

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So, while all of this is well and good, and I feel confident that I can somewhat maintain a higher level of physical activity during quarantine than I would have 2 years ago; I have had to do an incredible amount of emotional work to make strides in the way that I see myself. We've talked about the tangible changes, but without the internal and mental changes, even when exercising regularly, I would still feel confined to the constraints that existed in my mind.

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There was an extended period of time where I would do everything in my power to refrain from wearing shorts that highlighted my large thighs and would refuse to wear bathing suits around anyone but my family, and even that was hard sometimes. Tank tops, no matter how cute, seemed to serve the sole purpose of showing the world my flabby arms. My relationship with clothing was unhealthy, unfortunate, and inconvenient.

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I would like to say there was a particular moment where it just clicked for me and I was no longer preoccupied with all of those things, but it was years and years of work, with and without psychiatric help, that has led me to the place I am today. The most notable of these changes, though, is when I studied abroad in Cape Town. If I had decided to dress with the same level of self-consciousness as I had previously, I would have been really sweaty all semester, and would never have the opportunity to really enjoy the remarkable beaches. I surprised myself when on the second day of the program, going to the beach didn’t lead me to spiral into a pit of disappointment, but rather, I rushed to my room, put on one of my new bathing suits, shorts, and a tank top. Was there a little voice in my head that was reminding me of all of the “problems” with my body? Yes. But, the voice in my head telling me that I was in Cape Town and I would be dammed if I didn’t milk every experience because I was self-conscious was much, much louder.

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This specific example is one particularly poignant moment, but the changes that I have made in the way I dress, shop, and behave day to day has continued to be emblematic of the shift in my frame of mind. I no longer feel as though my preoccupations with my body are dictating my life and my decisions. 

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While it might seem contradictory that I was able to start caring less about my body while also dedicating myself to being healthy, through writing this it has become increasingly clear that one without the other doesn't work. The hardest thing for me prior to this was that I was working out and eating healthy so that I could look a certain way. I wasn't working out to feel good, or be healthier, I was doing it to meet these societal standards of beauty. Thus, when one month into my new plan I was seeing little change, it seemed useless to me. The number on the scale wasn't changing much, and I didn't have the clarity to recognize the additional benefits of exercising. 

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Now that I have reached a place of greater happiness and confidence, I am no longer working out for the sole purpose of looking like something that I am not. As I hope has become clear through this essay, I was now doing it for myself. I was doing it because it made me feel stronger, it helped keep my anxiety at bay, and after some time, it gave me more energy and I was just generally happier. I was less irritable, less impatient, and more compassionate. Had I remained confined to the previous goal, I would be certain to disappoint myself time and time again. Without my new mindset, I would be stuck in this vicious cycle, because my goal was simply unattainable. Now that my goal is about me, a number on a scale doesn't have nearly the same control as it used to. 

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This experience has been far from linear and it would be completely untrue to say that I absolutely love my body now, but day after day, my confidence and my eagerness to be the best and healthiest person I can continue to grow. And, even on those days that feel unbearable, I now have the capacity to remind myself (and actually believe it) that my self worth is by no means wrapped up in my physicality. 

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Coronavirus might fuck up my schedule, but I refuse to let it detract from all of the growth that I have worked so hard to attain. Google Calendar or not, my body, my life, and my health are all in my control and will remain there, even if it is the only thing that does.