I stood in the tiny office of the local rec centre shivering, clad in a sports bra and yoga pants as a tiny kinesiology student prodded at my fat with giant white calipers.
"You're in good shape,"she said,"Way better shape than anyone else I've tested recently." She pulled out a wad of flesh close to my hip and pinched, and I watched as her pencil flitted over a piece of paper on the desk, recording studiously.
"Yeah?" I asked, surprised.
"Yeah,"she responded,"We get a lot of seniors here."
"Oh."
I knew I was in decent shape, and I also knew I had a lot of work to do. I'd been running consistently 4-6 days a week, anywhere from 5 to 15 kilometers at a time. I was also eating whatever the hell I felt like eating, and crowning any particularly strenuous runs with brownies and rice pudding. I figured I was doing a lot of exercise, but Corey convinced me that going to a gym would take me to the next level. I got a body composition test to measure where I was today, with a faint plan to repeat the test after 6 months in the gym and restricting my diet more. Every night I saw the muscular, powerful body of the man I love, and I envied it. I wanted to be in control of my body's fitness in the same way he seemed to be.
***
I have never in my life worked so diligently at fitness as I have in the last six months. I've been working out 6 days a week, hard. At first, it was weights at the gym 3 days a week coupled with 3 days of running. For the last 2 months, I've been hitting Crossfit with a vengeance: giving it my all at shorter, more intense workouts. I can honestly say that I give every shred of effort I possess, in every single workout. Typically, I go to Crossfit 5 days a week and then supplement with 1-2 days of running. I'm surprised at my own dedication to diet: from October to February I adhered strictly to the Body For Life eating plan, balancing carbs with protein and keeping calorie count low. Recently, I've started eating according to the Paleo plan: no bread, sugar, or dairy for the last month and a half. Yesterday, I went for my second body composition test, 6 months after the first. Based on my effort, I expected the world.
***
The email with my results came from Sally, the manager of the fitness facility that took my reading. I scanned through the pleasantries and hastily clicked on the word document. And then the colour drained out of my face. And then I had a sudden, overwhelming need for cheesecake. What. The. Hell.
I'd been working my ass off in diet and exercise for 6 months and I regressed? My hips grew? My BMI increased?
Here is what I saw:
April 2010 October 2009 Better or Worse?
Height 6'0 6'0 na
Weight 153 149 regression
Waist Circumference 28 30 improvement
Percent Body Fat 18.7% 24% improvement
(Inexplicably, this next part shifts to centimeters. What can I say, I'm Canadian.)
Biceps 25.5 26 improvement
Flexed Biceps 27.5 27.5 na
Chest 82 85.5 improvement
Hip 101 93 Regression
Thigh 57 55 Regression
Calf 36 37.5 improvement
Forearm 24 24 na
I scanned through all the lines. Regression was notes in red, improvement in blue. Dude. How had my thighs increased in size? How had my BMI regressed? How in the name of Everloving Mindfuck did I gain almost 7 centimeter on my hips: the one body part I've always wanted to whittle?
***
I was almost in tears when I finished reading the synopsis. I've been working my ass off toward something: fleeting youth, improved strength, the best body I've ever owned, a variety of those things and many of them are stupid but many of them are very real to me. I don't take well to failure.
"What the hell?" Corey said,"You lost almost 5% of your body fat!"
"But!" I sniffled,"But! My goddamned gigantic hips! I gained 7 centimeters on my hips!"
***
Our Crossfit coach happened to stop by our house last night with some buffalo meat and he had read my tweet, and he stood earnestly at the bottom of the stairs and explained all the reasons I should refrain from being an ass about this.
"It's muscle you've gained,"he said,"Your hip measurements include your butt. You're gaining muscle. Added inches don't matter. You're getting a butt!"
But it's so ingrained, isn't it? I started to doubt the before and after pictures I took: maybe I was standing straighter in the second one, maybe I just look better now because I've found the love of my life? Who the hell knew? I wanted cheesecake. Screw Paleo, screw all the effort. Maybe Fatskinny is where it's at.
***
I'm off the ledge more today. Corey has ventured to talk me a bit today about it, with the caveat that I'm a stubborn asshole who doesn't listen.
"Look,"he said,"You've lost bodyfat. You've had a ton of people mention the difference they've seen in you. You're focusing on a negative that doesn't exist."
I blame magazines, in part. I blame my own insecurities, the fact that I am not cool with gaining weight as an already very tall woman, regardless of whether it's muscle. You guys, there's a lot of ups and downs in this fitness thing. I'm experiencing my first down in a while.
I'm not going to go and give up exercise and replace salads and tuna with swiss fondue but I am left wondering: is a small decrease in body fat worth the ridiculous sacrifice? Is it worth bigger hips and thighs, and a smaller chest?
At this exact moment in time, I'm not entirely sure.
(Incidentally? Corey's body fat percentage is 8.5% You can all vomit along with me.)