"I Don't Know if Men Will Like That.": An Open Letter to My Parents (and Friends)
My dad was on the phone with me the other night and we got on the topic of weight lifting. He said it will make me look like a man. I tried to explain to him that weight lifting will not make me look like a man. He continued to disagree. I think he even threw some nonsense about looking like a “Russian man on steroids”. Point taken, dad. I take everything my parents say with a grain of salt. I love them dearly but they don’t always understand the things I like. That’s totally cool! What’s not cool is when they try to dissuade me from something I love because it will:
1. Make me too manly 2. Make me unappealing to men 3. Throw off my balance of yin and yang 4. Lead to painful injury 5. blah blah blah a bunch of other stuff that I can’t stand to listen to anymore My relationship with exercise and training has not always been smooth and easy. Ask any of my friends now and they will tell you that I am crazy and go to the gym way too often. I like being the crazy gym friend because I used to be unhealthy and eat-a-lot friend (I still eat a lot, just a lot better). When I was about 11 or 12, I was diagnosed with type II diabetes. At that age, you’re more concerned with what kind of Lunchables you get rather than a lifelong illness and as you can imagine, my priorities were elsewhere. My mom was obviously extremely concerned and she immediately put me on a strict diet and changed the way we ate at home. She also signed me up with a personal trainer. Dave introduced me to the medicine I so desperately needed: weight lifting. After working with Dave, I lost a lot of weight. I felt strong, or as strong as a 13 year old kid can feel, and it was great. I never missed a session. Eventually, high school started and I no longer had the time to work with Dave but I did continue to regularly exercise at the YMCA. Every kid goes through rough patches in their life and my life was no exception. My parents were divorced and my mom was getting remarried and it was very stressful for me. Not really thinking (because I was a teenager), I started to slack off and not take care of myself as much. I would hang out with my friends and we would eat… and eat… and eat. Then… college rolls around. When you finally get that taste of freedom away from your parents, all self control goes out the window. I thought I could continue to act the way I did and breeze through without suffering. Wrong. I put on all the weight I had lost as a teenager and then gained some more. And more. And more. Sophomore year of college, I went back home for a checkup. My doctor had done a blood test and my sugars were over 300 mg/dL. For anyone that doesn’t know, that is dangerous. Like REALLY dangerous. She told me I had to start taking medicine. Like, actual pills. She told me that the medicine was essentially poison for my blood, but it would control my sugar levels, so long as I ate pretty much lettuce until my levels normalized. I started taking metformin and as sick as I had been, I felt even worse on this drug. I remember being nauseous all the time, feeling pressure behind my eyes, and being even more tired and fatigued than before. I knew I had to change my lifestyle.
Fast forward to now: I am no longer taking metformin and I haven’t had to since about 2009. I’ve been seeing the world’s best nutritionist* in NYC who has helped me radically change my eating habits and I hit the gym like some people go to church. I work full time and have some semblance of a social life but I always prioritize the gym or some sort of exercise because without it, I will get sick. It’s scary. For a long time, I was in super ultra denial that anything was wrong with me. My friends ate cake so I thought, “I can do it too!” Except I can’t. Now just because I have diabetes, I’m not saying I’m deathly ill or unable to do things other people can’t. I just have to be careful. People are always surprised when I tell them that I am diabetic. Everyone always comes back with, “But you go to the gym all the time!” Well, yeah, I have to. Fitness has been exploding and is sensationalized to the point where you can’t go on Instagram without seeing at least 100 pictures of shredded abs, no body fat, and a plethora of cute workout clothes. I have been accused of being “obsessed” and “too into fitness” and while I used to get annoyed with it, I realized that my desire to be fit and healthy isn’t for Instagram likes (ok, maybe like 10% of the reason), it’s so that I can just live. I don’t want to make it sound so final, but that’s what it boils down to: if I let my health go, I will get sick and it will lead to complications later on in life. I don’t want that. At all. It TERRIFIES ME. Here are some of the scary things that can happen.
Now back to what my dad said. I don’t think my parents get why I love lifting so much. They think I should go to the gym and smile and look cute and pose in the mirror (WHICH IS NOT WHAT ALL FEMALES DO FYI). They see my weight lifting as something that is detrimental to my femininity (I can’t even spell that word, that’s how little I use it). But guess what, mom and dad: weight lifting is keeping me healthy. It something that I LOVE to do. I don’t care what you think about it because I am going to keep doing it. I don’t care if you think it’s going to make me look like a man or if guys will find me “too muscley”. Honestly, if a dude doesn’t like the way I look, I probably wouldn’t want him anyway. You don’t deadlift? Bye Felicia. To my friends whom I love dearly: the same can be said to you. You don’t want to go to the gym with me but want me to go out for bottomless mimosas? Fine, you’ll see me maybe once every few months. I love y’all, but I don’t love eating the way I used to and alcohol and I are like oil and water. I’ve learned the true meaning of barbells over bar tabs.
Winding down here. More than anything, weight lifting taught me more than just how to lift up heavy things and how to put them down: it taught me that I am capable of amazing strength — both physical and mental (hey that’s a thing called confidence in some circles). It has taught me to be kind to my body and rest when I need to. The weights will be there tomorrow, a night watching Netflix isn’t going to destroy weeks of progress. It has shown me that I have to be careful and ask for help when I need it. It has taught me to prioritize my health but not to compromise it for the sake of gains. It has lifted my moods on more occasions than I count and helped me vent my frustrations when talking just isn’t in the cards. It really is therapy. It has helped me make friends and find a community I feel at home with. It has taught me to inspire others, to take compliments gracefully, and accept criticism as it comes my way. Not everyone will like or understand why I love weight lifting but all I ask is that people (mainly MOM AND DAD) respect it.
And that is why I lift.
Y’all can find me at the NYSC in Astoria tossing weights around and flexing in the mirror. This is my journey and I hope this inspires someone to love him of herself today.
*maybe not true, but she’s awesome and I’ll recommend her to anyone who asks
