Wednesday, 9 April 2014

That time I was naked in a field and posted the photos on the Internet (NSFW, obvs)

Superlatively Rude

On Sunday afternoon I wondered what, exactly, the repercussions of public nudity might be. I stood in a field of yellow rape seed, bared shoulders shrouded by a floor-length kimono that was a gift from my father to Mama Janie about twenty years ago, after a business trip to Japan. He was always going to Japan on business, my dad. I was *almost* ready to drop it -- but, I think you can get arrested for public indecency, can’t you? I wondered what I would do if I happened across an unclothed twenty-seven year old in the bushes. I don’t know if I’d laugh, or cry.

I loosened the fabric around my shoulders and listened to the voice behind the camera.

‘Okay then,’ she said. ‘And now let it fall a little to reveal your sides. Yup – just like that. Perfect. And a little more…?’

I shuddered against the cold and let the gown disappear towards the soil. And just like that I was naked in the Cambridge countryside, nothing but a sultry gaze and an icy breeze adorning my frame.

Friday, 4 April 2014

A note about being strong and sexy

When I said that I wanted to shed 38 pounds and train for a 10k race, it was so that I could reclaim my body -- how I relate to my form, how I feel about myself. I declared want for STRONG and SEXY, because after finding myself on the obese section of my doctor’s BMI chart, I realised, with the kind of startling clarity that stings at the eyes and aches the throat, that I was treating my body like utter shite. And, suddenly, that was not okay. I wasn’t even sure if I liked my body any more. If I did, surely I’d be treating it better than scoffing enough calories a day to balloon to a UK dress size 16.

Eleven and a half weeks ago I weighed 181 pounds – 12 stones 9lbs, or 82+ kilos. Today I weigh 145 pounds: 5 pounds off of my target weight, and a healthy BMI, but 35 pounds better off than I was. Last weekend I tried on a series of size 8-10 clothes and squealed at the tightness of my waist, the gentle slope of my hips. I got changed in front of my bedroom mirror – the same mirror where I have bared my belly and thighs to measure every week’s loss, photographing my changing silhouette to document, honestly, what hard goddamnwork looks like – and marvelled.

Internet, I have no shame in telling you that I feel so amazing, so proud, so fucking well, that I basically want to be naked all the time because shit the motherfucking bed: my body is incredible.

Friday, 21 March 2014

Is it weird if Dodgeball is the best date I've ever been on?

‘Oh right, yeah – you’re the blogger, right?’ he said to me.

I hate that question. I often don’t like meeting people, boys, (men), when I know they’ve read this here blog, because it’s so easy to make snap judgements on what I’m about. I do, after all, say the word “vagina” a lot, and have a whole section dedicated to my poop stories. The bright pink box in the sidebar that says “I’m fat! (and still get laid)” means you’d be forgiven if thoughts inclined a particular, southerly, way. I try not to mention what I write about, if I can – not when I first meet someone (men).

I nodded with a Joey Potter half smile. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘That’s me.’ I did an awkward chortle. ‘Not sure if I can look you in the eye if you’ve been through my archives, though.’ This guy probably thought me ridiculous.

A second chap, the one who organised everything, chimed in as he threw a ball up and down. Up, catch. Up, catch. Up, catch. ‘I read your blog too. Vagina and all that, innit?’

I opened my mouth to respond but the first guy spoke for me: ‘Yeah, but vagina and all that, you mean like, feminism, don’t you.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘In fact,’ he said, continuing, genuinely interested, ‘What kind of feminism do you identify with?’

I was suddenly aware of the muscles under his shirt, the way his biceps nudged his sleeves as he gesticulated. My brain got hard. ‘What kind of feminism?’ I repeated. His statement threw me off guard. Aren’t the guys who play sport supposed to be dickheads?

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