I never thought I was fat. I’m a black woman. Generally speaking black women believe curves are cool* and not just because Hollywood finally decided to get on board. Long before JLo or Jessica Biel or Scarlett Johansson or Kim Kardashian were publically touting their tushies, black women were proud of our booties even when mainstream wasn’t paying us any attention.
Rounded Hips, plump tushies and thick legs are celebrated and envied where I’m from. Sometimes, I’d stare in the mirror and if my derriere seemed to be losing its ample shape, I’d double up on the squats and eat a second helping of dessert just for good measure. I never asked a boyfriend if a dress made me look fat. I’d cringe when girlfriends complained about their weight. And as generous as I am, I don’t share sweets. I remember laughing at a friend in college because she asked me to split a Snickers. Girl, please! They come in a single package for a reason! My body image, aside from my breast size, was all good.
I’ve always loved food. Not in a dainty “I’ll try a few bites of anything” sort of way. I’m talking about sit me down in front of a plate of something and watch how fast it disappears. I never went on dates and ordered salads. No, ma’am. I’m ordering a steak or burger and depending on how well we hit it off, I might ask to taste his food too. An ex-boyfriend jokes that whenever he wanted to make me happy, he’d feed me. He says my eyes would literally light up at the sight of food. But it’s true and he quickly learned. You want to make me happy, feed me!! You want to make up with me, forget the flowers and the card; take me out for a good meal!
Let me be clear: As much as I love to inhale food, I was never a couch potato. In high school and college I played soccer, tennis, field hockey. I rode horses and kayaked. I didn’t have a gym regimen but I was active and had fun doing it. My dress size remained in the single digits and while my legs have always been thick and my tush has always been round, my stomach was flat and my arms toned. And until recently I never considered myself to have a weight problem.
So what happened!!?? And how did I wake up one morning fighting to suck in my stomach and shimmying and squirming to get into a pair of my favorite skinny jeans. Why am I suddenly forced to take 3 different sizes in the dressing room with me as if shopping isn’t stressful enough?! Forget the host of excuses. Life got in the way, I got lazy but continued to eat like a horse, and now I’m relying way too much on SPANX to create the shape that once was natural.
I’m not obese but I definitely need to drop AT LEAST 15 pounds. And even though friends and family claim they don’t notice the difference (I’m really good at masking the extra pounds) I know that losing 15 pounds will make a huge difference in how I feel and look. I also realize that while my 20s may have been all about dropping vanity pounds, my 30s is time for me to start thinking about my health. I have to adopt a healthier lifestyle if I want to have a fighting chance of preventing cancer, strokes, high blood pressure, diabetes, heart disease and other ailments that I’m at risk for as a black woman.
Needless to say, food and I are no longer friends; we’ve had a bit of a falling out. What finally was my wake up call, you ask? I went to the doctor a while back for a check-up and routinely stepped on the scale. When the number popped up I did a double take. I squinted, stared closer at the numbers. I was convinced that the last two digits were transposed. I asked the nurse to wait while I took off my shoes and put my purse on the counter; it had to account for the extra few-err-dozen pounds. I stepped lightly back on the scale, and even when I stripped down to my skivvies, the scale didn’t budge. I was bummed.
So for the past few weeks, I’ve been speed walking around my neighborhood until I sweat. I keep my urge for a Coke at bay with water or tea. I’ve replaced the big breakfasts and lunches that I used to look forward to with fruits and veggies and lean meat and fish. I’ve cut down on dairy products, especially my weekly dose of Baskin Robbins mint chocolate chip ice cream and I munch on celery or carrots instead of the heavenly sweets and salty snacks that I used to devour while catching up on episodes of the The Good Wife. But let me be completely honest. It aint been easy. I really enjoy the taste of food and while my sister has pointed out that a lot of my snacking is not because I’m hungry, but because I’m orally fixated, as freaky as it sounds, maybe she’s right (thanks Freud).
And as I try to be more conscious about what I put in my mouth I never realized how much my life centered around food. Catching up with friends is always over greasy, fried appetizers and gut-busting drinks. Headed to the bookstore? I’m guaranteed to grab a pastry and sugar-loaded caramel apple spice (extra caramel, please!) while I flip through a magazine. Stopping at the mall to browse the clearance racks? I might as well grab a pretzel or a cinnamon roll while I stroll. Not to mention Sunday brunch with my family after church. I literally had to lock myself in my house the first week I began my diet. Stepping out the front door posed too great of a risk of eating something really tasty (read: unhealthy).
And if cutting back on sinfully delicious food is tough, the work-out has become even more difficult. So it was a great coincidence that I recently saw an article on black women and exercise or rather how some black women don’t exercise. You may have heard that a lot of black women choose not to work out because they are afraid to sweat out their hair. For my non-black readers, before you write that off as the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard, allow me to explain. A black woman’s hair is typically more high maintenance that that of non-black women. Managing our crown and glory can be quite a stressful ordeal that is deeper than just a bad hair day or bed head. Most of us can’t just wash and go. We spend countless hours in the beauty salon or at home in the bathroom mirror frying, dyeing, relaxing, twisting, rolling, curling and braiding, and as a collective group, we spend billions of dollars on hair care products each year. With that said, some black women are reluctant to spend an hour in the gym sweating out a perfectly coifed ‘do that took hours to create. Whether it makes sense or not and is worth the trade off of staying in shape, that is the rationale of SOME black women.
That’s why I’m so impressed that our First Lady, a striking brown beauty, manages to lead a “Let’s Move” campaign to fight childhood obesity, publically discusses her workout routine (have you checked out her arms lately!?) and her hair is always healthy and perfectly styled (ok, we all know and agree that she has a 24/7 glam squad) but nevertheless it’s helping to defy some of the stereotypes that black women are too vain to sweat. And for some black women who forgo exercise to protect their precious strands, it’s a reminder that we don’t have to sacrifice one to have the other; we can be active and have great hair which ensures we look good all the way around.
So with the extra pounds as motivation and the First Lady as one of many role models, I’m confident that I can drop the weight even though most days I’d trade precious sleep for a Snickers. Even if that means I force myself to go to bed by 8 o’clock so that I don’t have to listen to my stomach growl and beg for carbs. The past few nights I’ve fallen asleep fantasizing about eating something really good like pasta smothered in a meaty, red sauce or enchiladas with rice and beans, instead of the leafy greens that await me.
I mean, a girl can dream, right?
*This is changing. A number of studies show that an increasing number of black girls suffer from eating disorders such as anorexia and bulimia and have negative body images.
