Stretching out

Movement is my special interest.

As a fat and autistic woman, sometimes I joke to myself that if some kind of sport were my special interest, my life would've been so much better. If I were more like Billy Elliott, like the girls from Bend it Like Beckham, like Michael Phelps, like Messi, or even like the shy lady who celebrates her horses' birthdays on Alan Partridge. If I were more like the average interviewees on the sports section of the news, with the charisma and wit of a cactus, but with devotion and energy focused on their field, their track, their art.

Thus, I bully myself, at least I would've had an obsession that made me stand up from my seat, instead of just sitting down writing or reading nonsense. At least my obsession would've helped me burn calories. It would've helped me earn a tiny bit of pretty privilege, economic advantage or social capital, even if I wouldn't know what the fuck I would do with them.

But then I get my head out of the butthole that were the 90s and y2ks, because life is not a teenage soap from Televisa and because, two years and over a third of my size after starting my bariatric process, it's quite real that losing weight isn't the solution to my problems. And even if it were, the change is still turbulent and painful from several angles. Because poking the ground and finding petrol hurts the ground too and it can also cause earthquakes.

Then, I find it curious that now my little joke has more or less become a reality. Now, with more lightness in my moves and above all with more time of experience and practice, yoga and pilates are my special interests.

"OK, but do a real workout"

That's what a nutritionist once told me when I was 16 and had just discovered yoga. I'd been through periods of grief, from the deepest to the dumbest, and on a trip to Houston to visit family, I bought a beginner's yoga kit. I think it was at Target or somewhere like that. It was from Gaiam, and it included a mat, a foam block, a stretching belt, and a couple of VHS tapes, each with a class for either the morning (AM Yoga with Rodney Yee) or the evening (PM Yoga with Patricia Walden). I followed them religiously every day for several weeks. Carefully at first, almost memorising them in body and mind by the end. Not yet in spirit. Perhaps I would have done it sooner if I had kept up the practice. But I didn't.

The nutritionist said it was not a real workout. That I should better go to the gym because no pain no gain. And that I should eat boring and flavourless shit only. "You'll see you're gonna be modeling by Christmas" he told me as an incentive. But modeling wasn't my special interest. I didn't even know what a "special interest" was. Thinking from a distance, yoga was my special interest. But it wasn't as much of a special interest as being loved and accepted. My greatest special interest was to not be alone in the universe. And that, in the times of heroin chic only had one shape. Apparently, of course, because those who seemed to have it often felt more hopeless than the average person. We see how Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Lindsay Lohan, Anahí, and Paris Hilton grew up.

Anyway, I continued doing yoga intermittently. Just as I continued dieting and trying nonsense resolutions. But curiously, the Venn diagram of the times I followed controlled movement patterns and the times I followed uncontrolled reduction patterns were two separate circles that never touched. I was most at peace with myself when I exercised. Yoga, taebo, spinning, belly dance. I didn't necessarily follow food regimes during those periods, but people told me that it was noticeable that I was changing more than when I was drinking supposedly miraculous concoctions instead of eating food. That I looked better in the sense that I felt happier, firmer, more graceful, and more confident. But I would stop those movements perhaps because I enjoyed them, and because if I didn't suffer, then it was of no use.

Once I began to deal with my mental health, self-love, and then my bariatric process, I started exercising again just for the fun of it. And for health. This time for real. To avoid losing muscle and be able to perform better in my daily life, which is very important when you reach a certain age. My health, physical condition, and endurance began to improve not through suffering and punishment, but through enjoyment and reward. Endorphins, fun, peace, connection. The phrase that nutritionist had engraved in my mind was fading.

No pain, no gain.

Pain? No gain.

No pain, gain.

No pain.

Gain.

I returned to yoga and pilates classes and continued to improve. With practice, the pain became less and less, and therefore, I felt more satisfied. That satisfaction recalibrated my curiosity about life and trying new things. For a couple of weeks, I tried out various studios and styles, and at the recommendation of my friend Laiza, I started taking reformer pilates classes. What a great discovery. Machines help make exercises easier and more difficult at the same time. I don't know if I'm making myself clear. You're still using weights and resistance with your own body, but the tools help you avoid damaging your joints as much and give you shortcuts so they're not just simpler, but more doable. I go three times a week.

On days when I don't go to pilates, I do yoga at home with YouTube videos. Vinyasa and hatha when I want to flow more, and yin and restorative when I want to recover. I'm still looking for that yoga studio of my dreams, but for now I'm happy practising at home and saving money to invest in upgrading my personal equipment. For example, a new mat and meditation cushion. My friend Pedro, Laiza's husband, started bringing a yoga teacher to his workshop every Friday. I'm starting to go there.

I don't shut myself to trying new things and going to interesting yoga classes, especially if they involve more special interests and things that fascinate me. Recently I went to a cat café to do yoga with kitties. It was the cutest and cuddliest thing ever. Suddenly, you'd stretch out and a cat would jump up on you. Or when you were meditating on the floor with your eyes closed, they would come up to you to give you peace. Just like my cat does at home. She's my favorite companion.

I love strength training, and it's what my bariatric team recommends most today. Yes. Even the nutritionist. Much more forward-thinking and optimistic than that idiot 23 years ago. The goal isn't to be a model—which, by the way, I managed to be even when I was heavier than ever, but that's a different story. The goal is to be healthy enough to live life to the fullest every day and be happy.