One of the reasons I enjoy writing this blog so much is that, while its focus is style and fashion, I can talk about these subjects from my own, personal perspective. And sometimes I can talk about tangential subjects from my personal perspective – like when I ranted about the weird fascination with Viola Davis’ natural hair at the Oscars or that racist moron at French Elle.
So, yeah, I have another rant.
Yesterday my company hosted a wellness fair for its employees and I visited the table of one of the vendors, a national fitness center chain. The “senior trainer” behind the table asked me about my fitness goals and I gave him the Cliff’s Notes version of my athletic endeavors.
Mr. “Senior Trainer” offered to do a body composition test, after which he informed me that in order for me to have an optimal body fat percentage, “better muscle definition” and to be more competitive, my ideal weight is 15 pounds less than what it is. What. The. Hell?
1) He’s not a doctor or nutritionist. More to the point, he’s not MY doctor or nutritionist.
2) He admitted he doesn’t know much about triathlon or distance running so how can he have any idea what would make me more competitive in either?
3) Kiss my entire ass. It’s a valid point.
As a representative of my company, I wanted to be respectful, which I was. I thanked him for the test and moved on.
But I have to tell you, as confident as I am that I’m right where I need to be, he found the chink in my armor. The tiniest little seed of doubt found its way into my psyche, and had me questioning how I feel in my own skin.
And that’s the part of this little tale that makes me the angriest because I know better. How do I not let the arbitrary pronouncement of a random stranger affect how I feel about myself?
If you’ve got suggestions, I’m all ears.