I Miss Exercise #KOTW

Content warning: Fatphobia/fatism

Exercise.

Oh, I miss it.

So very much.

I would Zumba once a week and walk for 20/30 mins several times a week too. I’ve not done either of those things properly this year.

I got to a point where I could no longer do the 10 min walk to town, shop and walk back early in the new year. I got to the point where I couldn’t even walk round town to do a little shopping without sitting several times by February.

I still attempted to go to Zumba now and then, just taking it easy. But the last time I went I did more standing out than joining in and it was kinda miserable, really.

My health has deteriorated vastly and it’s incredibly frustrating that I can’t do as much as I want to be able to do. I’m at a point when my doctors can’t do anything to help me, I’m waiting to see not just a specialist to a super specialist and I should have been seen in May, but of course Covid 19 put paid to that. So now I’m expecting to be seen in October…fingers crossed.

I miss exercise. I miss the muscle aches. Not just from the exercise itself, but my favourite thing was Zumba with bruises. Oh, the way my aching flesh would jiggle and shake and I’d feel that jolt of pain and the connection back to being beaten. It was ecstatic. And sometimes even orgasmic.
I miss the smile that would put on my face. How it would make me work harder, to hurt more. Masochist, me? Yeah, definitely. We all know that by now, I can’t deny it.

Also, I’ve always taken a pride in making certain folks raise a brow when they see me in action. I’ve got the moves like Jagger you know and I’m fat. Some people can’t get their head around that. Society tells us that fat people are ridiculously unhealthy. Now here’s the shocker (not) that’s not actually true for all fat people.

Breaking ridiculous assumptions is a favourite hobby of mine.

My fitness has deteriorated greatly so I can no longer do this. It makes me sad because I have some of that anti-fat rhetoric stuck inside me and there’s this little voice that insidiously whispers that all this is my fault, that I really should try to not be fat. As skinny is the answer to all problems.

It’s getting harder to drown out that nasty little voice.

But drown it out I will. Because fuck me, I’ve not come this far to slide back now. My fat body deserves all respect and love. I know that, I’m going to do my best to keep providing that.
But I miss exercise. I try and do a little, within the bounds of my uncontrolled asthma but oh, I want it to hurt so good again.

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