Since I can remember, my life has always involved high levels of activity. When I was little, if there was a rock, I was climbing it. If there was a bike, I was riding it. If there was a place to go, I would rather walk than sit and ride in a car. I couldn’t wait for the day that I was old enough for my mom to sign me up for every sport possible for me to participate in. When I was four that day finally game. My mom signed me up for youth gymnastics.
Before I knew it, gymnastics was all I wanted to do. It was a quickly found passion that I took with me until I was a senior in high school.
It’s obvious to most people that gymnasts have very muscularly defined body types. Gymnasts are required to keep almost their entire body flexed during a routine, and use major muscle groups consistently during practice and competition to support their own body weight while it completes high-power tricks. Beginning at age four meant that my body adapted to build muscle rapidly at a young age. As I got older, I continued to participate in a variety of sports in addition to gymnastics: soccer, basketball, and track and field. My body was lean and toned. I didn’t think much of it until I was a teenager, when other people began to take notice.
It started off with the gym teachers in middle school being impressed by the number of pull-ups I could do. They praised me for it, and I graciously accepted – feeling proud that I had stood out to them. However, once I got into high school, I, like many others my age, wanted to blend in and just get used to being at the bottom of the social food chain again.
I don’t remember exactly when, but at some point, my response to peoples’ comments about my body went from being proud, to hurriedly changing the subject. As far as I could tell, no one meant any harm by it. In fact, in many cases the comments came across as compliments, which for whatever reason I am not very comfortable accepting. When I asked to change the subject, or became obviously uncomfortable, people began to assume that I was ashamed of my defined figure; that I thought girls weren’t supposed to look that way, and that I wished my muscles weren’t so apparent. After enough of this feedback, I began to believe that all of it was true. I was ashamed and insecure about the body I had worked hard to get by doing what I enjoyed.
After that, I accepted this as fact. Even used exactly the words that others had assumed to be true in my defense to other comments about my body.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Girls aren’t supposed to look this way.”
What I didn’t realize until recently was that everyone was wrong. I was not insecure about my body. I was proud of it. Just because I don’t want to talk about it whenever it comes up does not mean that I am ashamed of it. It simply means exactly that: I don’t want to talk about it. I didn’t and don’t work hard to maintain my body so that I can talk to other people about it. I did it and continue to work on it because I am passionate about it. Activity and fitness are very important in my life, but are also very personal to me; and I like it that way.
I was convinced by the people around me that I was ashamed of my body. If this was the case, I would not continue to work hard to maintain and better it.
Assumptions were made, and I listened to them. Accepted them. Lived most of my young adult life so far believing them. But not anymore.
I’m a girl with muscles.
I worked for them.
I am proud of them.
I do not want to talk about them – and that’s ok.
