The perfect body

A SYTYCB entry

Ladies, I’ve done it!!  I am proud to announce that I have finally achieved that elusive, highly sought after state-of-being:  The Perfect Body.  And I’m going to let you in on my little secret.

I didn’t do it with any diet – just the thought alone of subsisting on grapefruit and vinegar for extended periods makes me cranky.  I didn’t do it with an exercise program – my fitness initiatives are as sporadic as the rest of my life permits, and my best intentions will never ever satisfy the Beachbodies behind P90X.  And I certainly didn’t do it with pills, potions or products – as much as I love the idea of wearing a WWE-worthy belt to randomly electrocute my abs into six-pack shape.

Instead, I took a look at the definition of perfect.  We’ve spent our whole lives being told what “perfect” is.  It’s having the proportions of a comic book super-heroine (whose massive breasts never get in the way of all the crime-fighting action).  It’s having the super-smooth thighs of a teen, but never the hint of a blemish on our faces.  It’s having long hair, being the proper age to get away with having long hair, and, oh by the way, it would be great if that long hair is highly lustrous and appears only casually unkempt upon waking.  It’s being simultaneously brainy and dumb, active and passive, maidenly and sensual, tall and petite.  That’s a big order even for those of us who have achieved a level of comfort with the idea that “perfection” is a direction and not a destination.

So, with a clean sheet of paper I sat down to revisit what a “perfect” body should look like… and came up blank.  Because ultimately it’s not what my body looks like that makes it perfect – it’s what it does.  My list for the perfect body includes things like:

• Legs persistent enough to climbs tall mountains no matter how many bounds it takes;
• Arms strong enough to shape my world as I see fit;
• Shoulders tough enough to carry the weight of said world; and
• A head on top that directs everything below the neck to do bigger, better things than I imagined yesterday.

I won’t lie – I’d love it if my shoulders and hiney weren’t quite so wide, if my hands and feet were more delicate, if that damn chin hair would just take the hint.  But I just can’t swallow the idea that those measures render my body imperfect.  I have used these arms to move tons of landscape rocks, to build a house, and to create art.  I have hauled this 40-year old body from Georgia to Maine on my own two feet.  I have paddled with porpoise and I have huffed and puffed my way across a 10K finish line.  I have knocked down walls and rebuilt them.  This body is perfect, because it is the vehicle through which I experience the world – and I’m happy to have it.