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thefatnutritionist_feed) wrote2025-06-30 12:53 pm
I fat-accepted myself so hard, I became a jock – part 2: skating.
In 2018, I discovered I had a craving for INTENSITY. This was very curious and strange to me, though again, looking back to my childhood, there were signs. I was a somewhat cautious kid, but I also had some small-time adrenaline junkie energy. I loved roller coasters, I had dreams of racing go karts, I loved going fast on my bike, jumping high on a trampoline, or diving into swimming holes.
I spent most of 2018 just considering my options, without doing anything in particular. I thought about a trampoline gym, go kart racing, bowling, aerial silks or acrobatics, taking drum lessons…there were so many possibilities of things I could do to experience excitement and intensity. I took a trip to a local amusement park, but was not able to fit on the most interesting rides. I rode what I could (honestly, it was just a single ride, far too tame for my tastes) and walked around the rest of the day, feeling sad and disappointed. Instead of blaming myself or feeling intense shame about my body, I took it as a sign of what I wanted and craved. And I clearly wanted to do something exciting. I thought about what could give me that experience outside of an amusement park.
A few months later, a couple of (rad fat) friends invited me swimming at an indoor pool (as is rad fat tradition), and I went. I waded and floated around for a bit, then ended up climbing up the ladder and diving from a diving platform roughly a million times, in line with a bunch of hyperactive little kids. That night, I went home and slept like a baby.
Diving reminded me that I could still physically do the things I used to love as a kid, even now as a fat, nearly 40-year old adult. I started to think about what else I used to do as a kid, and that’s when it occurred to me: I used to love skating. I was even kind of good at it. But that was Oregon in the 80s, and it was roller skating. I now live in Toronto, in the 21st century, where there is very little roller skating, but an absolute glut of ice skating. I’d always watched figure skating on TV. I decided then and there to buy a pair of ice skates, since it was December, and to attempt ice skating.
I got the skates and went to a little outdoor ice rink that was completely empty, on a weekday morning, and tentatively stepped onto the ice, gripping a nearby fence for dear life. I stood up. I did a little penguin march, still holding the fence. I did not fall (yet.) My blades slid forward about one inch on the ice. It was the greatest feeling I’d ever felt, and I knew I was home.
I started taking skating lessons, and started skating five times a week, purely for fun. It was just like being on a roller coaster, maybe better. It’s now six and-a-half years later, and I’m a decently good skater. A baby-beginner figure skater, but a figure skater nonetheless. I do little spins and tiny hops on two feet. More importantly, I have something that gets me outdoors on cold winter mornings and reminds me that there is more to life than just anxiety or work or the news. I get to have communion with the little animal inside of me that wants to have fun, at least a little bit, every day.
I’m usually the only fat person present, and I don’t care. I’ve had people make fun of me for that, and I don’t care. I have joy, and I am free.
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