Last night I attended a film screening in a space with vintage theater seats that must have come from one of Chicago’s former movie palaces. Seats from that era are smaller than the seats we’re used to today, even the plain flip down stadium-style chairs you might find in some older movie theaters.
A very large woman started making her way down the row in front of us. I knew she wasn’t going to fit in the seat. I thought about what must have gone through her head when she walked in and realized she was faced with a room full of instruments of torture and humiliation. She took the seat right in front of us. As she leaned down, I could tell that she had initially hit the armrests. I knew what was happening when she tried to wedge herself in but of course she could not sit down fully into the seat. The result was that she was much higher than anyone around her; she blocked the entire view of the screen. I was feeling horrible for her. I also knew the situation would be physically painful as well as horribly embarrassing. We knew we’d have to move over and so started the flurry of relocating bags and jackets, asking strangers to move bags and jackets, pushing and pulling on squeaky old seats. The woman turned around and apologized to us; of course it was nothing. To us, anyway. The mini drama would unfold again as people attempted to take the empty seats and realized there was no view of the screen. The woman knew it kept happening. I knew that she knew why.
I will never lose that wave of anxiety that descends over me when I witness situations like this. It was the left hook of a one-two punch I experienced yesterday. Earlier on the bus, I’d seen a woman I used to see regularly when I worked downtown. It was a jolt to see her after such a long time, looking exactly as she did a couple years ago. She fully fills two seats, an unpleasant body odor envelops her in an invisible isolation tent you can literally see people being repelled from. She’s young, probably not even 30, with a gentle face I have never looked into because she never looks up. She is always prepared with something to read. Keeping her nose in a magazine, she spares herself from having to avoid the looks of disgust. Seeing her would never fail to upset me and today was no exception. I have never seen her get on or off the bus; such a painful spectacle would no doubt bring me close to tears.
I’ve never been much for revisiting the past but of course I can’t help but feel empathy for these people when I see them. Despite being heavy all my life, I had never lost any significant amount of weight that I could have regained so I continue to be living my one shot. I know I can’t ever go back. I live a life now with my hands firmly on the steering wheel of the vehicle I spent decades trying to get on a specific straight and narrow road. Now I’m there and I won’t let go. As I’ve written about recently, my weight is up from an extended period of reduced daily activity. I have brought my activity back up, some days WAY up, to feel back in control of my physical ability. Years of experience have ingrained in me a higher need to feel in control. It’s a long process that develops from experience. I could never have talked myself into it or simply attempted to “change my mind.”
Have you had experiences that make you want to reach out and make big changes? Did anything ever happen to you that made you feel like you’ve got to CHANGE RIGHT NOW and it felt urgent? What did it drive you to do?
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I don’t know if I ever fit so poorly that I sat taller but I certainly hit many an armrest painfully and hugged my arms in tight so I wasn’t taking up more than my fair share. I also remember being struck with terror standing in line for a roller coaster at Disneyland. There were signs posted everywhere about size limitations and I was so afraid I wouldn’t fit. At some point I was crying into my husband’s chest and he couldn’t understand why I was so worried. Did I fit? I never found out. The ride was shut down just as we got to the front. I think God was sparing me that humiliation.
The thing that made me say I have to change right now is something that happens to a lot of people, I saw myself in a picture. It was a team photo at a formal event. Instead of looking what should have been my best, my arms looked like ham hocks, my face was bloated and I was bigger than anyone else in the photo including the men. Best of all, everyone of my coworkers had the picture on their desk so I had to look at it everyday. It was completely devastating. I really didn’t recognize myself, the outside didn’t match the inside.
That was almost 3 years ago right around Christmas. I knew I would do anything as long as it was safe. It wasn’t too much later that I met my coach. Aside from his expertise and a$$kicking workouts, the biggest thing he provided was the absolute belief that I could do it. I was so broken down I couldn’t do it for myself at the time. The fact that he never said “if” like “if you stick with it you can do it” was an amazing thing to me. I know I’ve done the work, and he’d be the first to tell you that, but I can honestly never repay what that did for me, how it kept me going at the worst.