Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda

I mentioned that I saw a personal trainer last week, didn’t I?

One of the things he did was weigh me and test my BMI. I’ve long ago made peace with the scale, and although I step on it about once every two weeks, it rarely surprises me. I can guess where I am by how my body (and clothes) feel (ultimately, much healthier guidelines than a number on a scale, but that’s a topic for another day).

I had my BMI tested once, about 19 months ago. It was 26% then, and 23% last Friday. Both are totally within the healthy range. To be honest? The fact that there is 30lbs of fat, pure fat, on my body is a little surprising to me and it kind of grossed me out. That’s a whole toddler of fat!

My husband reminded me that we need fat on our bodies and while yes, I understand that whole source of energy thing, it bothered me. Should it be lower? Is reducing my BMI something I should focus on? I wondered to myself. How low? Are these measurements accurate? What’s good, what if the outlined acceptable isn’t actually low enough?

Keep in mind, I have fairly skeptical opinions about “healthy body weights” as outlined by some two-dimension chart that takes nothing other than age, weight and height into the equation. And I think that BMI calculations don’t likely leave much room for the muscle mass on your body or bone density or anything else that might affect the number.

We are pushed into this form, women, men, athletes, the inactive, of what we should be, should look like. If you’ve ever felt like an overstuffed sausage when trying on running clothes because you are neither tall nor lithe, you’ll understand what I mean. And I guess while I’ve made peace with the scale, I haven’t completely been able to let go of the notion of what I should be.