I Don’t Really Care About Being Healthy
We fat acceptance people-on-the-Internet spend an awful lot of goddamn time talking about our health.
I understand why, of course. Our entire culture is convinced that fat means unhealthy, 100% of the time, always and forever, and that’s just stupid, of course. We’re bound to spend a lot of time refuting this prolific untruth.
Some of us are really proud of our fitness or our colors-of-the-rainbow diets or our feats of physical prowess or our medically-measured numbers that fall in a certain range. Great! I hope those fatties keep pounding home the message that fat does not equal unhealthy, and that you can’t diagnose someone based on how they look.
It’s not really my message, though, and I do get a little weary of it sometimes.
I have a different message instead.
- I really like eating. I’m not even going to try to convince you that it’s all from scratch or that I eat a lot of vegetables. It’s not, and I don’t. I like McDonald’s. A lot.
- I don’t exercise. Ever. It’s no fun, and so I don’t do it.
How come it feels so strange to admit that? Why is that something to “admit”?
Seriously. That shouldn’t be some kind of big personal “truth” that’s hard to get out there. But it sure feels like it sometimes.
Fast food is delicious, and running sucks. How can that statement possibly be controversial?
The fatties who are all into fitness – I’m glad they’re out there campaigning for the right of every body to pursue physical activity.
The vegetarian and vegan fatties who stand up against the classism, healthism, and fatphobia of their menu-mates – I’m glad they’re fighting the good fight.
The “healthy” fat people (by whatever measure of health happens to be in vogue) – thank goodness they’re willing to speak out against stereotypes.
But let me just say that I do not give two shits about the whole “out of breath going up a flight of stairs” thing. Anyone standing at the top measuring the volume of my breaths is just a creep. You know what I do when I get out of breath? I slow down. Or sit down. So what?
I get daily fat-related hate mail. The level of obsession these people have about my physical capabilities is astonishing. They range from “can’t touch your own toes” (who are you? my 3rd grade PE teacher?) to “can’t wipe your own ass” (who are YOU? please don’t come within 100 yards of me).
I wonder how many flights of stairs I would have to climb (while touching my toes and wiping my ass) without getting out of breath to appease these people? I’m guessing it can’t be done, but it doesn’t matter because I’m never going to try.
Because other people do not make the rules for me, my body, my life.
Look, some people like to exercise or enjoy other kinds of physical movement. Some people like to do creative or complex things with their food intake. Whatever. I don’t. And there are things that I like to do that you don’t. That’s sort of how “being different people” works.
When I gave the readers of LoveLiveGrow my permission to submit their rude questions about fat to me, several came in that were pretty similar:
Aren’t you just looking for a way to justify not exercising/being fat/not working hard enough/eating whatever you want?
My reply sums thing up pretty well:
No one needs a justification for that. I don’t have to exercise, and I can eat whatever I want. You don’t have to exercise, and you can eat whatever you want. You’re in charge of you, and I’m in charge of me, forever and ever, amen.
If that makes you uncomfortable, then we may be getting closer to the root of the problem. It’s not the fat people; it’s the desire to own and police the bodies of other people.
(This post is modified, reprinted from GLORIFY.)
Comments: If you’re a fat hater, don’t bother commenting here.