Given that my little friend Moxie is the new face of The Obesity Epidemic, as soon as I saw the following video, I knew I had to post it here. After all, this is clearly what people like Sally Ann Voak, assorted douchehounds, and self-righteous temporarily thin people imagine happening when 95% of dieters regain the weight they lost.
They’re just not trying hard enough!
In reality, of course, fat people, unlike adorable kitties, can and do exercise. [ETA: adorable kitties, too! — Kate] I can definitively say that my co-bloggers Kate and Fillyjonk, both of whom are fatter than me, exercise about a bajillion times more than I do (hey, I’m in grad school — it’s all I can do to finish my reading and consume my required weekly dose of alcohol). When I had more time to exercise? I was fatter. You might be starting to sense a pattern.
On the Douchehounds thread, Roughmagic left a comment that broke my heart.
I’m a teacher who’s written a book, I have a beautiful son, and I cook Thanksgiving dinner for 20 friends and family every year, but I don’t consider myself hard working or disciplined in the least because I’m fat.
Roughmagic, despite strong evidence to the contrary, has been convinced by all the fatphobic strains of our culture that she is more like that lazy cat than like the accomplished person she is.
Take a minute and remind yourself, even if you know it already: your body is not a sign of failure. Your body is not a punishment for your moral character. You are not lazy because you are fat. (And if you are lazy, that’s nobody’s business but your own!) You have just as much right to control of, and happiness in, your own body as my cat does in hers.
I was going to end this entry with another cat, but in fact a different and more sublime animal image keeps coming to mind: Mary Oliver’s poem “Wild Geese.”
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Go read the whole thing (it’s short). And then be good to the soft animal of your body, whether it’s soaring at the moment or, like mine, just trying to catch a nap on the treadmill.