. . . It's not that I don't like the encouragement. It's that sometimes I feel that it trivializes my real pain. The point of the last post was to emphasize the realness of my pain and struggles.
Loves.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Everyday a Marathon
The school year has begun, which for most means finally cracking open those books after a summer of non-commitment, or perhaps a summer of working that Barista job, but still having time to take a step back and tip-toe through the random-ten-hour-Six-Feet-Under-marathons.
I've had a different summer and thus, a different first day back.
Because of my internship with Student Involvement and Leadership at my university (I was their print and web design intern), in some ways, I never left last year. My summer was filled with plenty of fun, enjoyment, and relaxation, but for the past month or so, I've been going 200 mph, trying to mitigate my various levels of involvement while still doing my respective jobs. This has effectively translated into one tired Fettchen.
I want to say something that I'll most likely say again and again, but perhaps maybe, when I need to talk about this in the future, I'll just do a clever link back to this post. Think of this as our Grundsatz, a basic principle I want you all to understand:
Walking is hard.
Yesterday, the first day of class, was host to our campus' involvement fair, where the first-years come, fresh from convocation, and get a chance to see the array of clubs and organizations offered at PLU, deciding with whom to give their email. I'm a diversity advocate working out of the diversity center, so from about 8:30 until 9:45 I was running around, getting this together for not only my job, but also the organizations I belong to. There was set up. There was take down. And all before noon, I was zonked.
Then it was time for class.
I want the world to understand that despite the specialness that was yesterday, for me, everyday is a marathon. The weight that I carry around makes it so that by the end of the day, I'm completely exhausted, and sometimes even thinking of moving hurts. The support that we give to fat people when they're working hard physically is the kind of response that values the percieved outcome of that pain, rather than the pain. I don't know how many times I've heard others say "Good for you!" or "Proud of you!" as if they feel that this level of activity is taking me somewhere, to that place of being thin like them.
I'm not sure that's the case, really. I take everyday in stride, hoping that this won't be the day I injure myself. Sometimes, I think, how easier my marathon life would be, were it not for the extra me that I carry.
I've had a different summer and thus, a different first day back.
Because of my internship with Student Involvement and Leadership at my university (I was their print and web design intern), in some ways, I never left last year. My summer was filled with plenty of fun, enjoyment, and relaxation, but for the past month or so, I've been going 200 mph, trying to mitigate my various levels of involvement while still doing my respective jobs. This has effectively translated into one tired Fettchen.
I want to say something that I'll most likely say again and again, but perhaps maybe, when I need to talk about this in the future, I'll just do a clever link back to this post. Think of this as our Grundsatz, a basic principle I want you all to understand:
Walking is hard.
Yesterday, the first day of class, was host to our campus' involvement fair, where the first-years come, fresh from convocation, and get a chance to see the array of clubs and organizations offered at PLU, deciding with whom to give their email. I'm a diversity advocate working out of the diversity center, so from about 8:30 until 9:45 I was running around, getting this together for not only my job, but also the organizations I belong to. There was set up. There was take down. And all before noon, I was zonked.
Then it was time for class.
I want the world to understand that despite the specialness that was yesterday, for me, everyday is a marathon. The weight that I carry around makes it so that by the end of the day, I'm completely exhausted, and sometimes even thinking of moving hurts. The support that we give to fat people when they're working hard physically is the kind of response that values the percieved outcome of that pain, rather than the pain. I don't know how many times I've heard others say "Good for you!" or "Proud of you!" as if they feel that this level of activity is taking me somewhere, to that place of being thin like them.
I'm not sure that's the case, really. I take everyday in stride, hoping that this won't be the day I injure myself. Sometimes, I think, how easier my marathon life would be, were it not for the extra me that I carry.
Monday, September 8, 2008
sos . . .
As in, the plural of so, not the distress call save our souls.
Anyway. I've been gobbled by the hole that is the beginning of school for the past three weeks, and for that, dear bloggypoos, I apologize, not to say that it will get better, because it won't—three jobs, three 300+ level classes, and two clubs? Bet your boo we could be heading toward lean times.
But I want this blog to work. I know!
die vier Zielpunkte Fettchens
otherwise known as Fettchen's four goals!
Thanks for the understanding lovelies. Until then, das Bett.
Anyway. I've been gobbled by the hole that is the beginning of school for the past three weeks, and for that, dear bloggypoos, I apologize, not to say that it will get better, because it won't—three jobs, three 300+ level classes, and two clubs? Bet your boo we could be heading toward lean times.
But I want this blog to work. I know!
die vier Zielpunkte Fettchens
otherwise known as Fettchen's four goals!
- Post at least once a week
- Eventually work toward posting three times a week
- Acquire before study-abroad video blogging technologies
- Get a cat to love and snuggle with
Thanks for the understanding lovelies. Until then, das Bett.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Faith and the Election
Earlier today I had a conversation with a friend and fellow blogger Jessica about the appropriateness of faith and religious language in public discussions.
Today, I offer you scripture:
Today I broke down.
I cried and told my sister about the hope I felt, that I, for the the first time in years, feel patriotic about my country and hopeful about my world. My mother, whose vote I was not sure of, talked with me, and for the first time in my life as an adult--I felt as if we truly saw eye to eye and made a deep, intellectual connection.
My faith in America and my family has been ignited. I stand in Faith and Hope tonight, not saying that Obama will be my president. The work of that is done. Obama is my president and I stand in hopeful expectation, with evidence of things not seen.
Today, I offer you scripture:
Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.This evening I broke down in my parent's living room. My sister and I had just finished watching Michelle Obama's speech on YouTube and were commencing to watch Barack Obama's speech where he accepted the nomination. I watched the speech last night, in my bed, after a long and busy day, and then I was moved.
--Hebrews 11:1
Today I broke down.
I cried and told my sister about the hope I felt, that I, for the the first time in years, feel patriotic about my country and hopeful about my world. My mother, whose vote I was not sure of, talked with me, and for the first time in my life as an adult--I felt as if we truly saw eye to eye and made a deep, intellectual connection.
My faith in America and my family has been ignited. I stand in Faith and Hope tonight, not saying that Obama will be my president. The work of that is done. Obama is my president and I stand in hopeful expectation, with evidence of things not seen.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
After the Stairs
It was worth it, even though I was miffed. I climbed them and found it to be uplifting, in the end.
I'm going to write soon about my experience at PLU's Student Leadership Institute. First, das Essen. And then das Bett.
I'm going to write soon about my experience at PLU's Student Leadership Institute. First, das Essen. And then das Bett.
For an optimist, I'm pretty pessimistic . . .
After a day of walking around Tacoma, pushing past inconceivable limits, and making great strides through pain and discomfort, I am now sentenced to the lower floor of the UC. Without warning, cause, or information as to when the elevator would be fixed, facilities at PLU has decided to render elevator service out of order.
In a word: Livid.
In another word: Hurt.
In a few sentences: After a day like today, this was the last thing I needed. As a morbidly obese person, I hold on to the plans and precautions I make in daily living. I know when to walk, how to walk there, where resting places are, and how far I can make it in between. I know in whose car to ride based on my comfortably. I know what words and defenses to make when I can't do something.
There are major portions of tonight that I'm missing and this has thrown a serious wrench in my experience.
I'm going upstairs. Or at least trying.
In a word: Livid.
In another word: Hurt.
In a few sentences: After a day like today, this was the last thing I needed. As a morbidly obese person, I hold on to the plans and precautions I make in daily living. I know when to walk, how to walk there, where resting places are, and how far I can make it in between. I know in whose car to ride based on my comfortably. I know what words and defenses to make when I can't do something.
There are major portions of tonight that I'm missing and this has thrown a serious wrench in my experience.
I'm going upstairs. Or at least trying.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Can I get my two-piece with a side of $300, plz?
Friday, I had a long day.
While I wanted to write you a blog post about all of the wonderful things I had done this summer in my internship, I had a hell of a time getting my last big project done. This brochure of doom (I feel like a Fettchen's Terminology Post is yet to come) was getting on my nerves and despite having excellent company for lunch, my microwavables weren't cutting it and I needed me some subway.
As my sister and I were strolling up to our local sandwich-artist-establishment, the radio station blaring, the music (Bleeding Love and other such delectables) cut to two female voices, trash talking, the kind of noise you just tune out. Today, however, was an exception.
Radio Transcript*
Female-Voice-#1-Who-Masks-Real-News-With-Witty-
Urban-Repartee:
Did you hear about Alabama? They're giving people a year to lose weight and if they don't, they're going to charge them.
Female-Voice-#2-Who-Says-Inappropriate-Things-
In-Order-To-Mask-The-Fact-That-This-is-in-fact-news:
Nuh uh!
FV#1WMRNWUR:
Yes huh.
FV#2WSITIOTMTFTTIIFN:
You straight trippin'.
FV#1WMRNWUR:
Yes, they're giving fat people one year to lose weight and then they're either going to have to leave, or pay.
FV#2WSITIOTMTFTTIIFN:
Oh shit!
FV#1WMRNWUR:
Yes, Oh shit indeed.
My sister and I were both completely taken aback. The people speaking on the radio station weren't so much outraged at the fact that a state was telling its citizens that they needed to lose weight or face paying more money—as they were thinking it funny that fat people were either going to have to "drop that two piece**" or flee Alabama.
I placed my order for a veggie delite, toasted, on italian herb and cheese with all the veggies (except green peppers), yes I do want banana peppers and mayo (light), oil and vinegar please, toasted while my sister had a mini-sub which she got for free with her card. I, of course, proceeded to get angry and bombast the radio talk show hosts with my sister. We both were completely flummoxed and despite our more than apparent anger—this invisible fear hung between us: It's happening. We, both overweight for our entire lives, have experienced the quite visible nonacceptance and at times blatant discrimination that overweight people face daily. Stares. Ugly little children pointing us out to their inattentive parents. Laughs. Ambivalence. The thought crossed both of our minds as we waited for our sandwiches.
If it could happen there, what's to stop it from happening here—happening to us?
When the radio was turned back on, we got the whole story. In fact, it isn't that Alabama is charging its citizens for being overweight, but its state workers. If after a year of leniency and access to state funded programs these workers do not make progress, they will be charged an extra $25 in health premiums, about $300 more than their BMI-efficient co-workers.
While I understand the logic (it apparently having worked for smoking state workers), I can't jump behind the motivations. In essence, this sends a message to the citizens of Alabama that their bodies aren't valued assets to the state, but are perceived as costing them more money, and as such, should be penalized. It doesn't look at diets, at body types, at activity, or even at overall health, but at a quantitative number that truly, only shows a minute part of someone's overall wellness. What should feel like a state saying "hey guy, it's okay, let's see what I, the recipient of your tax dollars, can do to help you become well" is instead yet another example of institutionalized discrimination against the obese.
When you penalize the obese, you send the message that they—that we—are unwelcome.
For me, this policy will creates more stressors and will likely cause people to lose weight rapidly and unhealthily. Alabama should be on the side of wellness and on the side of its state workers, not on the side of beauty and its pocketbooks.
*Artistic Representation not intended to actually quote the radio show hosts. Like, at all.
**This was actually said.
While I wanted to write you a blog post about all of the wonderful things I had done this summer in my internship, I had a hell of a time getting my last big project done. This brochure of doom (I feel like a Fettchen's Terminology Post is yet to come) was getting on my nerves and despite having excellent company for lunch, my microwavables weren't cutting it and I needed me some subway.
As my sister and I were strolling up to our local sandwich-artist-establishment, the radio station blaring, the music (Bleeding Love and other such delectables) cut to two female voices, trash talking, the kind of noise you just tune out. Today, however, was an exception.
Radio Transcript*
Female-Voice-#1-Who-Masks-Real-News-With-Witty-
Urban-Repartee:
Did you hear about Alabama? They're giving people a year to lose weight and if they don't, they're going to charge them.
Female-Voice-#2-Who-Says-Inappropriate-Things-
In-Order-To-Mask-The-Fact-That-This-is-in-fact-news:
Nuh uh!
FV#1WMRNWUR:
Yes huh.
FV#2WSITIOTMTFTTIIFN:
You straight trippin'.
FV#1WMRNWUR:
Yes, they're giving fat people one year to lose weight and then they're either going to have to leave, or pay.
FV#2WSITIOTMTFTTIIFN:
Oh shit!
FV#1WMRNWUR:
Yes, Oh shit indeed.
My sister and I were both completely taken aback. The people speaking on the radio station weren't so much outraged at the fact that a state was telling its citizens that they needed to lose weight or face paying more money—as they were thinking it funny that fat people were either going to have to "drop that two piece**" or flee Alabama.
I placed my order for a veggie delite, toasted, on italian herb and cheese with all the veggies (except green peppers), yes I do want banana peppers and mayo (light), oil and vinegar please, toasted while my sister had a mini-sub which she got for free with her card. I, of course, proceeded to get angry and bombast the radio talk show hosts with my sister. We both were completely flummoxed and despite our more than apparent anger—this invisible fear hung between us: It's happening. We, both overweight for our entire lives, have experienced the quite visible nonacceptance and at times blatant discrimination that overweight people face daily. Stares. Ugly little children pointing us out to their inattentive parents. Laughs. Ambivalence. The thought crossed both of our minds as we waited for our sandwiches.
If it could happen there, what's to stop it from happening here—happening to us?
When the radio was turned back on, we got the whole story. In fact, it isn't that Alabama is charging its citizens for being overweight, but its state workers. If after a year of leniency and access to state funded programs these workers do not make progress, they will be charged an extra $25 in health premiums, about $300 more than their BMI-efficient co-workers.
While I understand the logic (it apparently having worked for smoking state workers), I can't jump behind the motivations. In essence, this sends a message to the citizens of Alabama that their bodies aren't valued assets to the state, but are perceived as costing them more money, and as such, should be penalized. It doesn't look at diets, at body types, at activity, or even at overall health, but at a quantitative number that truly, only shows a minute part of someone's overall wellness. What should feel like a state saying "hey guy, it's okay, let's see what I, the recipient of your tax dollars, can do to help you become well" is instead yet another example of institutionalized discrimination against the obese.
When you penalize the obese, you send the message that they—that we—are unwelcome.
For me, this policy will creates more stressors and will likely cause people to lose weight rapidly and unhealthily. Alabama should be on the side of wellness and on the side of its state workers, not on the side of beauty and its pocketbooks.
*Artistic Representation not intended to actually quote the radio show hosts. Like, at all.
**This was actually said.
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