Then it hit me…

A few entirely random moments when I got over myself and realized…



the "lines"



*I find beauty in the most unlikely places, except in the mirror staring back at me.  I will tell anyone who will listen (or even just pretend to listen) JUST how opposite of beautiful I am.  I’m sure it gets old, but whatever.  I’ve been dieting since I was 12 years old, and if we say my current weight is “fat,” I’ve felt just as ugly and disgusting at “fat minus 25lbs” (freshman year of college) than I did at “fat plus 17lbs” (random times throughout college.)   When I look in the mirror, I often think that I am looking at a hefty, hairy man.  I recently decided, thanks to my Armenian and Irish roots, that I am best described as a polar bear:  big, white and hairy.  I’ve hated my body for so long, and it seems that each day I discover a new hideous feature that I should be ashamed of- I don’t care that everyone has those lines on either side of their nose- mine are deeper and longer and uglier.  One of my worst discoveries ever:  the stomach jiggle.  During my freshman year of college, my friend confessed to me how jealous she was that my stomach was flat.  FLAT?!?! HAHAHAHA “Not my stomach,” I thought!  THEN, one summer of binging later, I remember running down the stairs of my house and I felt it- this horrible ripple effect that took place above the waist of my jeans: the jiggle of my stomach fat.  Looking  back at pictures, I now realize what my freshman friend was talking about.  So, in addition for hating myself for the way I look now, I hate myself for not realizing that I wasn’t fat when I was 25lbs lighter and thought I was fat.  Got it? Good.  SO, the other day I was out for a run.  I’ve loved running since I was in 6^th or 7^th grade, and though sometimes I find myself taking a few weeks off at a time(and regretting it when I try to get back into it,) for the most part, I’ve done it pretty routinely.  Up until recently, when the thermometer decided to get stuck in the 30’s, I had been running 3-6 miles most days of the week.  Okay, so for many people that might seem like nothing, but for someone my size, I think that’s pretty impressive.  When I was in high school, and about 20lbs lighter, 3 miles had been my maximum.  (I’m pretty sure my 3 mile limit was due to the abuse i put my body thru in high school...)   ANYWAYS, I was enjoying that long and brisk run when it hit me:  This body, at its lightest and its heaviest, could run for 3-6 miles without stopping.  This body, without fail, has gotten up and out of bed every morning for 23 years.  Yes, sometimes it gets tired, and yes, through the years it has had broken bones, minor illnesses and other setbacks, but this body has recovered.  This body has been skiing, swimming, hiking, driving, traveling, etc., and yet for years I’ve abused this body with food, lack of food, chemicals, alcohol, neglect, maltreatment, etc.  Not everyone’s body is as loyal and forgiving to them as mine has been to me.  Hell, some people's bodies have never even given them a chance.  I’ve been pretty freakin lucky.  I should probably stop hating my body because, stomach fat aside, it has never let me down.  And somewhere down the line I'll probably want to look like I do now...

* I was driving home to attend the wake of a friend’s mom.  Through the years, a few people thought this girl and I looked alike- we were both tall and brunette, I’ll give them that.  This girl lived nearby with her mother, a truly beautiful and incredibly fun-spirited woman who just lost a hard-fought battle with brain cancer.  At some point during my drive home, I called my mom and started complaining about being fat and ugly.  My mom said, “Allison, you are beautiful.  Why can’t you see that?”  I replied, “thanks- that means a lot coming from my mom.”  Then it hit me- I was on my way home to see a friend who just lost her mother.  I was on my way home to see a girl, so intelligent and beautiful, who no longer has her mother to remind her that every day.  It DID mean a lot coming from my mom. 

* My dad drives this really awful, really old minivan.  I’m embarrassed it sits in our driveway, I’m embarrassed when I have to be associated with it and even more embarrassed when I have to drive in it.  One Saturday evening my parents drove me, in the minivan, to the ferry so I could visit my friends in NYC.  I ducked out of that minivan extremely fast, hoping nobody would see where I came from.  (Talk about being ungrateful- not only did they drive me to the ferry, I think my parents might have even paid for my ferry ticket- if not that time, they definitely paid the time before...)  They both go out of their way for me and my siblings to provide us with what we need and more, and though I feel horrible, I can’t look past that freakin minivan.  Well, Sunday morning, after a great night with my friends, I sat on a bench waiting for my parents at the ferry.  I watched as people were picked up in their Mercedes, BMWs, Range Rovers, etc.  I started to get nervous, hoping that my parents chose one of the other 2-3 cars that sit in our driveway on any given day instead of the minivan.  My parents were late picking me up- there were only a handful of people left at the ferry, clearly waiting for their luxury vehicle to pick them up.  Then it hit me- there was a time, 9 years ago, when my entire family waited anxiously to see if my dad was coming home at all.  I would take my dad coming to get me in that minivan any day over not having him at all.  [That being said, I'm still embarrased and that morning I DID walk to the end of the street to meet my minivan-driving dad and my mom…]