A lot of times, people will start with the polite, “You don’t have to answer this but…” or “Is it okay if I ask…” before the dreadful question floats out of their mouth. I usually respond with a tense “I don’t know,” but that’s a lie. I’ve weighed myself enough times to know how much I weigh, on average, down to a tenth of a pound. LifeTip: if you aren’t sure that someone is comfortable sharing their weight: don’t ask.
I don’t have much a problem with the people who back off when I tell them I’m not comfortable sharing, but more often than not, the person pouts and tries to predict my weight themselves. What. The. Heck.
In high school, I was roughly half a head shorter than all of the other flyers on our cheer team, and this made many people think it was socially acceptable to ask me how much I weighed. Some individuals even asked me this before they learned my name.
I usually look at these people with the “Are you kidding” look on my face hoping they would realize their rude stupidity. Some have, but the more common response is to physically pick me up without my permission and make an “educated guess.” Most of them were idiotic guesses. No, I am not 70 pounds --I’m a fricken adult.
You asking me if I weigh 70 pounds makes me wonder if I should be 70 pounds.
Even my mother told me that it was “practical” for them know, because I was “killing them with my weight.” First of all, it’s going to feel heavy because you’re holding a person above your head. Second, I can promise you that the main reason our stunt works is not because of how much I weigh or do not weigh. What makes sense “practically” is that there are three of you beneath me to split my weight, so even if I were to gain 10 pounds, you might not even notice.
Some people have this theory that if they tell me their weight, I have to be comfortable telling them mine because I’m so “small.” Yes I am slightly vertically challenged, but horizontally, I probably have more fluff and junk going on than you do. Ever been insecure about your proportions? Those insecurities still exist a foot below you. And honey, your arms are as long as legs so a least one of us should be a little concerned if I weighed more than you.
Because of the nature of the sport, a couple of bases also have the misconception that they have a right to know how much I weigh. Recently, a new friend I met through acroyoga was very determined to get me to admit my weight.
Even when I made it clear that I wasn’t comfortable sharing this information, she continued to press. She told me that she needed to know how much I weighed because “she knows how much she can lift.” When I still remained silent, she became visibly frazzled, and I caught a glimpse of her inner snarkiness. Then, she began the typical guessing game with me. Her first guess was a whooping 30 pounds over what I actually weighed. LifeTip 2: This is not a good way to make new friends.
Being my base does not entitle you to know my weight. Can I lift a 60 pound weight? Probably not. But can I lift and base a 60 pound person? Absolutely. Even if I were only to weigh 60 pounds, you wouldn’t be able to base me if I didn’t know how to jump, hold my weight, and stay tight above your head. I am much heavier than 60 pounds, but I am a flyer and I know how to fly in your stunt; I am not your dumbbell.
And guess what? I told her my weight because I was scared of her, and I still got dropped on my face.
Just because I am your “little” flyer, it does not mean that I haven’t cried over how my thighs look like they’re big enough to support an elephant before. And when you say I am, “light,” I take that as a compliment to my flying abilities not to my body. And even though I am shorter than the other flyers, I’ll still need just as much of your support because I am not perfect. Yes, I know how to hold my weight, but there will be times when my timing is off, I am shaking, my knee is bent, or my weight is on the wrong part of my foot. I know I will feel 30 pounds heavier in that moment but I need you to hold me there anyways.
And please stop asking me how much I weigh because I finally, finally learned how to stop weighing myself. I don’t need to be reminded of how I used to take my carry on scale on every overnight trip with me to make sure that I was not overweight. I don’t need to stand in front of you and wonder if it has been too long since I weighed myself, and I definitely don’t need to waste our practice time thinking about my weight.
So my advice to people who want to know if they’re strong enough to base a certain flyer? Don’t ask them how much they weigh; grab a few spotters and just frickin go try it with them.
