Growing Invisible

"Wow. WOW. Okay, you can step down from there."

Obediently, I stepped off the scale and sat down in the endocrinologist's office. The nurse had asked me to face away from the display on the scale so I had no idea what the damage was. Actually, that's a lie. I had some idea.

"Are you aware that over the last year your weight has increased more than twenty percent? TWENTY PERCENT!!"

Yes, I said, I am aware. That's a big part of why I'm here.

"OK. Well. As long as you're aware."

***

Dear everybody, I haven't written in a while...I've been in a not so good place.

See, I thought that getting fat was not going to change who I was. I thought that it wouldn't - couldn't - change how people who knew me saw me. I thought that having a solid professional track record would outweigh (pun intended) my appearance. How wrong I was about everything.

Apparently, if you're a trainer it doesn't matter what you know, who you are, or what your history is. If you get fat, you turn into a joke. Nobody cares why. It doesn't matter, because in the fitness industry it's all about looking good. If you don't look the part then you're a fraud.

But I knew all that. It's not a subtle point that's been driven home again and again, but something happened today that went a little deeper than usual. Gather 'round everyone, I have a story for you.

So three weeks ago, I turned to a well-known trainer's online coaching program. I'll tell you more about that in another post, but this program is a pretty extreme regimen - not at all what I usually preach to my clients, but you have to understand that I needed desperately to feel like myself again.
I was heavier than I'd been in years, I was fighting with awful side effects from the new drug the endocrinologist had put me on, my career was in free fall, and my confidence was at rock bottom.

But this morning, after three grueling weeks on my new program with a hard-ass coach in my corner, I was down eleven pounds and starting to feel better. I decided that it was time to make an appearance where I used to work...so I wandered into the old stomping ground and bought a membership - I wanted somewhere else to train besides my current studio and it was close by. Plus I thought it would be fun to see some familiar faces and catch up. Seemed to make perfect sense.

Now, in my current state, eleven pounds down is nice and all, but it's a drop in the barrel. I know there's a long way to go. But I'm still me, even if I look like I climbed into a sumo suit and can't find my way out. Or so I thought.

Because you know what happened in the gym this morning? Nothing. People I knew and would have stopped to talk to looked at me and quickly looked away. People I was happy to see and shared food and gossip with at social gatherings only a few months ago avoided eye contact so conspicuously it bordered on ridiculous. In the hour and a half that I spent there I didn't talk to a soul.

I didn't know how to feel. Invisible. Hurt. Angry. Seriously, people? Is it so awful to be seen talking to a chunky person? Or is it that the first thing that comes out of your mouths when you see each other is "oh my gawd you look so lean and gorgeous!" (or something to that effect) and you can't say that to me? Is it so hard to make conversation about something meaningful instead of an exchange of superficial banalities? Or are you just so horrified that you don't know what to say?

I debated what to do. Go hide in the shower and cry? No. Cut my workout short and go home in shame? Fuck that. I mean, don't get me wrong - the options that included cutting and running were attractive, but I didn't want to be that girl. I finished my workout. Then I went and cried in my car.

So dudes, here's the thing: I don't want to be a trainer anymore. I don't want to be part of this youth-and-beauty-worshipping poisonous bullshit factory that masquerades as an industry that's supposed to help people. I became a trainer because I thought I could help change that, but then I gained 60lbs and turned invisible.

Anyway. For the moment I don't know what else I would do. I love my job. It makes me so mad that I can't make a living doing what I'm good at because of how I look, that I'm sure I could shoot fire out of my eyeballs if I really tried hard. So for now the plan is this: I'm committed to my coach for three more months. If I can't find some mojo again in that time, I'm out. If I do, then freakin' look out, fitness industry, because I'm coming for you.