Going To Waist

During the Amazing Race in Yauyos, I had a station in a health post.  I was by myself for a while waiting for kids to arrive and noticed a scale in the corner.  I stepped on, did some quick cell phone calculator math to convert from kilos and found out that I’m 150 pounds.  I was relieved.

My weight has been an issue for me during my service.  I’ve gained 12 pounds since I’ve been in Peru.  I had lost weight while I was WWOOFing and there have been long stretches when I’ve hovered around 145 pounds, so I’m not remarkably heavier than I have been before. 

It’s a much bigger issue in my mind than it is on my thighs.  I had suspected since all my clothes still fit, but actually weighing myself confirmed it.  I was afraid I’d see a number more like 165.  I feel uncomfortable and unhappy with my body right now.  Trying to look objectively, nobody would say I’m fat.  Chubby even.  But I’m hyper-aware of the new cushy layer that wraps around my abdomen and under my chin. 

I’ve had to let go of a lot of hang-ups and neuroses in Peru, but this is one that is sticking with me and rankling hard in my brain.  I couldn’t tell you why I’m so upset about a little weight gain.  Why I’m so down on myself about it.  It sucks, though.  I’m hoping that sharing will be helpful.

It’s difficult to stay slim in Peace Corps Peru.  The diet is so carbohydrate heavy.  I compromised by only eating lunch with my family, but that always involves a noodle soup and then a main dish with potatoes and rice and often lots of oil.  For example, today’s lunch started with rice soup with occasional shards of squash and carrots.  Then the main plate was greasy spaghetti with some chicken.  The men in my family are rail-thin and the women are normal to chubby.  There’s something profoundly metabolically unfair going on. 

Whenever I go to someone’s house, I’m offered bread or super sweet tea.  When out working on a community project and being fed by Peruvians, I end up having primarily white rice meals.  I could be a real bastard about it and make all my own meals and refuse offered food, but that’s not what I’m here for.  Being skinny doesn’t seem worth being rude to nice people. 

It doesn’t help that I don’t feel pretty most of the time.  Being attractive is generally uncomfortable in Carhuamayo because of all the creepy male attention that comes my way, so I dress dumpily to avoid it.  Junin’s eco-zone is polar tundra, so cute dresses don’t emerge and I’m often marshmallowed in layers.  We have no running water at my house which makes for greasy hair and a perpetual side-braid.  I generally look like a homeless person that’s been through some extreme weather event. 

I’m also hindered by an ankle injury I had in April that has kept me from running all this time.  I’ve been doing kickboxing and P90x videos, but it’s not the same.  I miss running desperately, but I want to wait for my ankle to be all better rather than risk setting myself back more months.  

I really need to find a way to make peace with my situation.  There are things that are out of my control and I don’t have as much sway over my diet and exercise as I do in the states.  It’s comforting to know that I can pretty easily lose the weight I’ve gained when I get the chance.  But it still drives me slightly crazy in the meantime.  I’m going to eat better when I’m able to do so, and hopefully that will help me bajar a bit.  I’m going to put on pants that fit and do my hair when I’m out and about away from site.  I got lots of surprised compliments when I did so at my last regional meeting.   But it’s more important for me to learn to cut myself some slack about this.  I’m not sure yet how I’ll do it, but being kinder to myself can only help all around.