My New Year’s Resolution: Do Not Join the Gym.
06:53My New Year’s Resolution? Do NOT join the gym. Do NOT sign
up to society’s ever-changing, increasingly demanding, life-crippling notion of
“healthy living”. My health is not society’s health. My health needs cannot
align with those of society.
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| An apple a day didn't keep my Dr away.. |
I joined the gym in my first week of my first year at uni. I'll admit, my aim was never
as simple as self-improvement, because at this point, standing in the shiny
sports park, I was already very unwell. However, with the promise of perfection
and happiness - that good health, a toned body and a clean menu could make everything "okay" - I’d
argue that I wasn’t alone in searching for more than my abs. Whilst evidently,
my story takes things to the extreme, I’ve seen more girls, and guys, pummel
themselves on treadmills and carry the weight of the world on their shoulders than
I’d care to admit. Yes, I was ill, and obsessed with achieving perfection/my own shrinking, but society wasn't drip-feeding me alone - we were all breathing the promises that hung in that sweaty air. Whether we admit it or shy away from those full-length
mirrors, we’re at the gym because society has told us we need to be. Now, I’m
not “anti-gym”, far from it, but I think sometimes, between squats, or during,
if you’re still able to think coherently, it’s important to question what we’re
actually doing. Rationally, it’s very
simple: there’s a line between spending a couple of hours a week in the gym for
health reasons, and spending more time climbing those stairs than breathing
fresh air. But then, an obsessed brain blurs all rationale going. The fearful question I’m left asking is are we ever in an objective
position to draw that line? And then, is it ever that simple, that black and
white? And are we drawing, or is it the health-ads' body-shaming, the promise of
perfection, and a deep-rooted fear of everything that holds the pen?
In my final year of uni, I didn’t join the gym; it was
simultaneously one of the hardest and easiest things I did. Everywhere I looked
there were fellow students in gym leggings. Many of my friends had signed
up…they’d squat as we watched the Bake Off and use medicine balls as doorstops.
We’re the gym generation – it’s the latest craze, and no one wants to be left
behind. “Strong not skinny” is in. And on the surface, this “new year, new me”
aim to gain, improve our health and promote powerful bodies, is liberating. If
nothing else, it’s a move away from the impression that, whilst not
exclusively, especially, girls, should be shrinking/blending into society’s
margins. Here, we’re teaching girls to embrace their bodies, stand their ground,
and explore their strength and potential. It’s powerful stuff. And it’s riff.
From news headlines to flaxseed fanatics, we are bombarded
with claims as to what’s best for our health, but this “one size fits all
approach” is frankly turning my stomach. For me, personally, not joining the
gym, and denying myself my “seal” of approval on the “healthy lifestyle scale”
is the best decision I could have made for my health. My health does not need
me to pummel my body for 2 hours a day in the gym. My health does not need me
to eat less carbs. My health does not need me to teatox, detox or cut out
gluten. My health does not need 0% fat yoghurt. And the healthiest thing I can
possibly do is ensure my health is not conditioned by what’s "healthy".
I’m anorexic. I live a life controlled by numbers. Calories.
Weights. Distances. Miles. Macros. Fat content. Times. Appointments. I could
tell you the nutritional information of things you’ve probably never even
thought of…and I hope you never do. My friends think I’m a nutrition guru. My
parents ask me what they should be eating to lose that dreaded post-holiday
weight. We live in a world obsessed with health, but one that is also obsessed with dieting, with the gym, with numbers... And I don’t think you need a diagnosis to realise that. What I’m
now beginning to wonder is if all this focus on “being healthy” is
sugar-coating the reality. Where does "healthy" become "obsessed", and where does "obsessed" become "ill"? It’s taken me years, upon years, appointments after appointments, and an upcoming hospital admission to begin to
admit/acknowledge just how unwell I really am.
I want to make it very, very clear that I am not anorexic
because of the gym. Nor am I anorexic because of a “diet gone wrong”…there was
no clean eating, no new year’s diet. Nor am I anorexic because of the media –
I’m sorry, it’s just not that neat. Anorexia is an illness, not a choice, nor a lifestyle. We live in a culture where the notion of "ultimate health" is inescapable; that degree of saturaton is something I will be forever wary of, but
hopefully, one day, learn to juggle. They say time is a good healer…so long as
you steer clear of where you lost so much time in the first place: and for me,
that’s the gym and the nutritional information that smothers our food. This culture alone did not make me ill, but
this culture is allowing me to stay
underweight, severely malnourished and living a semi-existence. Every time my
housemates complimented my legs and wished they could tone theirs like mine, anorexia
won, this culture won, real, human me had lost, was lost.
For the first two years of my degree I pummelled myself on
that cross trainer, it was punishingly cruel, undeniably self-destructive and plain
dangerous. It was obsessively focused: I was in a bubble no one could have penetrated.
Once I was there, it was too late - and I watched that calories burned tracker
like my life depended on it. And ironically, it did. I had dodgy ECG readings
and a low BMI, but I wasn’t that
underweight, I wasn’t that ill, was
I? Well, I guess yes, is the simple answer. It’s a heavy weight to bare, a high
price to pay, and something I’ve spent years refusing to admit, but the facts,
the logic, and the rational evidence paint a picture of a very unwell patient. I
really wasn’t “fine”. I really wasn't "healthy".
In 2015, France made it illegal for models with an underweight BMI to walk on runways. With that in mind, is it time our gyms tightened up on applicants? I
wouldn’t be allowed to walk a catwalk, therefore, should I really be allowed to
run until I’m about to pass out, only to stumble to the mats and lie there
until the world stops spinning? I might not be setting a dangerous example to
impressionable teenage girls (*sigh* at how over-simplified this notion is…),
but my self-destruction could, realistically cost me my life – a life I’m not
really able to make rational decisions over. The gym didn’t make me anorexic,
but anorexia made me go to the gym compulsively.
Maybe it’s time we placed some constraints on how often those who are clearly at risk, both mentally and physically, can spend plugged into a running machine desperately hoping for life support? Honestly? I think rational me would actually have been fairly grateful to be told I simply wasn’t allowed in the gym anymore. Rational me would be quite grateful for a get out of jail-free-card (oh the irony): I’d like to be exempt from this health craze. The line between healthy and obsessive is too fine; the tight rope of optimum health cannot hold me. I will fall too quickly…and illness, predisposition, and perfectionistic personality aside, I don’t think I’m the only one seeking comfort in control, order and the pursuit of ultimate health. I’ll tell you this now, turn up your music and pick up the pace, watch the calories burned increase, there’s no form of life-support to be found in that hazy space if your intentions for being there are as illusory as fair-ground mirrors.
Maybe it’s time we placed some constraints on how often those who are clearly at risk, both mentally and physically, can spend plugged into a running machine desperately hoping for life support? Honestly? I think rational me would actually have been fairly grateful to be told I simply wasn’t allowed in the gym anymore. Rational me would be quite grateful for a get out of jail-free-card (oh the irony): I’d like to be exempt from this health craze. The line between healthy and obsessive is too fine; the tight rope of optimum health cannot hold me. I will fall too quickly…and illness, predisposition, and perfectionistic personality aside, I don’t think I’m the only one seeking comfort in control, order and the pursuit of ultimate health. I’ll tell you this now, turn up your music and pick up the pace, watch the calories burned increase, there’s no form of life-support to be found in that hazy space if your intentions for being there are as illusory as fair-ground mirrors.
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| My GP saved my life. |
The time I lost in the gym, much like the time I’ve lost to anorexia, is time I will never, ever get back. Should there be a minimum BMI
required for gym registration? I don’t know: how closely can staff monitor this? Desperate
people do desperate things. Desperate people caught up in denial do desperate
things. Should
there be a maximum amount of time you can spend in the gym? Should this only be
exercised – pardon the pun - on those considered “most at risk”? I’m simply not a fan of this archaic and frankly meaningless idea of BMI – it says very little in a world already obsessed with numbers. And, can
you ever see a mental health problem? And where does enjoyment become
obsession? And where does obsession become illness? Because I’m living it, day
in day out and I have absolutely no idea.
I’m not anti “New Year’s Resolution”. I’m not
anti-healthy-lifestyle. Of course I’m not, but I am most definitely anti-healthy-lifestyle-that-costs-lives
– both literally and in terms of quality of life. So, all I'm saying, is please, please, just be wary; the gym, and
all these health fads, can be a double-edged sword, and the scars last a
lifetime. Some of us bruise easier than others, and whilst we can’t always wrap
ourselves in cotton wool (not sure it quite fits the gym dress code) admitting
your health needs are not necessarily society’s health needs, at a time when they're rammed down our throats, is the first step
in healing, and accepting, and most importantly, living. Right now, my needs
cannot align with society’s. And maybe they never will, because my health is MY health. |
| Happy New Year - I choose life. |
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