How shall I age?
The other day a friend posted about how as she ages, she wants to look more and more like Iggy Pop—“haggard, gaunt, kind of dangerous” looking. I’ve been thinking about this ever since. The only person I’ve ever wanted to look like (besides myself) is Gertrude Stein, but I don’t have the right kind of nose for it. In general, I like the look of solidly built, no-nonsense kinds of people—immigrant grandmothers in sturdy traveling clothes, Depression-era farm wives with black oxford shoes and floury hands and white aprons over homemade flower-print dresses, communists, labor organizers, etc. People who work.
When we were renting the HBO series Carnivále on DVD last year, I was mesmerized by that fat girl who danced in the cootchie dance. Her mother, too. Both characters were actually kind of hard and unpleasant, but they looked warm, welcoming, and grounded, like someone who’d love to just pick you up and give you a big comforting hug. Like someone who knows how to get down to business. Like someone you’d want to snuggle up next to in a big creaky old bed, back to back with the soles of your feet touching the soles of her feet. I love sleeping like that.
Unfortunately, I don’t have the right kind of features for that look, either. I’m not designed to be fat. So why am I so worried about losing weight? Not worried that I won’t lose weight—worried that I will. It’s bizarre. Because I do want to lose some. I want to be healthier, feel stronger, look better in and out of clothes. I just don’t want to get too thin.
Not that I’m presently in any danger of that happening. I’ve lost about nine pounds since the beginning of August, which seems about right. Not too fast, but not so slow that it seems like nothing’s happening. I’m riding around 40 miles a week most weeks. No idea if that’s a lot or a little, but it’s what I have time to do and it feels good.
And now to the farmer’s market. I’m hoping to get a huge mess of greens—collards, if anyone has them, or spinach if it looks good. Now that the exercise thing is more or less under way, I’m tackling the nutrition end of things. Everything I’ve found to read says it’s much better to get your nutrition from food than from pills, so that’s what I’m shooting for. Also, taking all these vitamins every day is starting to make me smell funny.
When we were renting the HBO series Carnivále on DVD last year, I was mesmerized by that fat girl who danced in the cootchie dance. Her mother, too. Both characters were actually kind of hard and unpleasant, but they looked warm, welcoming, and grounded, like someone who’d love to just pick you up and give you a big comforting hug. Like someone who knows how to get down to business. Like someone you’d want to snuggle up next to in a big creaky old bed, back to back with the soles of your feet touching the soles of her feet. I love sleeping like that.
Unfortunately, I don’t have the right kind of features for that look, either. I’m not designed to be fat. So why am I so worried about losing weight? Not worried that I won’t lose weight—worried that I will. It’s bizarre. Because I do want to lose some. I want to be healthier, feel stronger, look better in and out of clothes. I just don’t want to get too thin.
Not that I’m presently in any danger of that happening. I’ve lost about nine pounds since the beginning of August, which seems about right. Not too fast, but not so slow that it seems like nothing’s happening. I’m riding around 40 miles a week most weeks. No idea if that’s a lot or a little, but it’s what I have time to do and it feels good.
And now to the farmer’s market. I’m hoping to get a huge mess of greens—collards, if anyone has them, or spinach if it looks good. Now that the exercise thing is more or less under way, I’m tackling the nutrition end of things. Everything I’ve found to read says it’s much better to get your nutrition from food than from pills, so that’s what I’m shooting for. Also, taking all these vitamins every day is starting to make me smell funny.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home