Self-loathing might not be the best motivation

There’s a common misconception that body issues stop and start with eating disorders. 

In my personal experience, all the problems I had with my looks were in regards to working out. 

I worked out six days a week in high school — for four hours a day — to maintain my emaciated physique. I’d lose my mind whenever the scales tipped higher, moving me out of my 18.4, underweight Body Mass Index. 

What’s worse is, the only reason I stopped exercising that much was because I herniated three discs in my spine, causing fleeting paralysis and sciatic nerve damage. It took losing feeling in my legs to get me to reexamine the intensity of my lifestyle.

Pushing yourself to the limit because you hate yourself negates the healthy parts of going to the gym. Now, I weigh more than I ever have in my entire life — and I feel OK with that. 

I’ve realized that a life sustained solely by raw eggs, whey powder, and days spent in the gym hurt me much more than it helped me, and I’ve seen it hurt others. Former athletes, I’m talking to you.

Your rippling muscles may look super toned and beautiful — which is awesome — but I’d encourage you to examine your motivations. If going to the gym or dieting is part of some negative feedback loop, consider the possibility that your body isn’t the problem — your brain is. 

I’m not trying to make exercising and dieting into some evil boogeyman. All I’m saying is, for the first time in my life, I want to work out to improve my health rather than my body image, and it feels amazing. And, based on some of the conversations I’ve heard around campus, I don’t think I’m the only person here who’s struggled with their appearance in this way. 

Go to the gym because it’s fun to exercise. Go because it makes you feel good about yourself. Go because you’re sick of feeling winded when you walk up the hill — not because you think a life with a little pudge is a life not worth living. 

If my newfound stretchmarks and cellulite have taught me anything, it’s that life doesn’t end when you’re .8 BMI overweight — a lesson that seems important on the cusp of Thanksgiving gorging.