Strong is the New Skinny

At the very beginning of my eating disorder recovery, I attended a boxing class with a close friend and her mother. I had never boxed before, but was intrigued by this form of exercise, and eager to adopt a new workout regime to burn off the meals I was now eating on a regular basis.

I remember feeling absolutely empowered at the end of that boxing class. I may have appeared small and fragile, but I was stronger than I looked, and the instructor commended me on giving 150%, at the end of the class. Sure, I was both mentally and physically exhausted at that time in my life, but something about hitting a punching bag and releasing all of my negative energy to the beat of the background stereo, fueled my fire, and kept my heart rate up for the hour-long class. In fact, boxing enabled me to feel something I had not felt in a long time: strength.

Boxing continues to be one of my favourite forms of exercise today. I love having my hands wrapped before pulling on red boxing gloves with my teeth, and feeling mighty as I hook right, then left. I love that I, a petite female who barely scrapes 5 ft. 3, feel powerful and confident after a round in the ring. Most of all, I love that the focus of boxing, a rigorous form of physical activity that tones and sculpts the body, is focused on strength instead of slenderness.

This seems a rarity in today's world of feminine fitness, where women are expected to conform to a rail-thin norm, and to become as slim as they can be. Not all women have a body type conducive to this current trend, but this doesn't stop us from pouring billions of dollars into the diet and fitness industries every year, as we aspire to be one thing: skinny.

Before I adjusted my view of exercise and its relationship with food, I pursued every workout regime that guaranteed weight loss. I didn't care about building or toning muscle, about being strong or healthy or physically capable. I cared about being thin, and if that made me weak and fragile, so be it. At least I would be considered acceptable by society’s standards.

When I started taking boxing classes my mindset changed. I wanted to skip faster during my warm-up, to hit harder, to be quicker and more dexterous on my feet. I stopped caring which moves would target the weight around my thighs, and which sequences burned the most fat. I wasn't boxing because it made me skinny. I was boxing because it made me strong. This was much more exhilarating, much more addictive, much more fun than any other exercise I'd ever done, because my mind was on the action, not the calories I hoped I was burning.

Over time, I realized how important it is to associate exercise with positive goals and emotions. I can run much faster and further if I'm thinking of how healthy it is to run, or how I am increasing my physical stamina by doing so, than if I'm simply thinking of how the ritual will shrink fat cells. Thinking about what exercise is adding to my life endears it to me, and exercising while eating well lets me see how strong I really am.

Feeling strong - both physically and mentally - has been a crucial part of my recovery. So you can imagine how deeply I appreciated seeing the label photographed above, stuck onto one of the scales at my university gym, the year before last. I was having a hard day in recovery, and went to the gym on a day I was not meant to workout. Rebelliously, I went to weight myself - something I am highly discouraged from doing - but someone was already standing on the scale I usually trusted. I walked to the other side of the change room to board the other scale, but before stepping onto it, I found it had been decorated by a compassionate soul.

A label had been stuck to the front of the appliance, which read, "Strong is the new skinny." I read the words to myself several times, and paused for a long moment.

I breathed in and out, then smiled to myself. "It is," I said aloud. And I walked away from the scale.

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