Hair of the dog

Summertime is not a good time for my skin; I regularly shave three quarters of my body. If I had my druthers, and the cash, it’d be more than that including waxing and shaving. I think it was eighth grade when I fully realized my dislike of body hair. I remember being in class and another student pointing out that I had long hairs coming out of a mole on my arm and laughing. I think I shaved that patch the next day. Possibly that night. (Nota bene: this applies to just my body hair, I don’t really care about the state anyone else’s.) I didn’t actually start shaving my arms entirely until university but prior to that I would do some arm grooming.

The problem is that my skin really dislikes shaving or any process of hair removal. Painfully dislikes. Makes my life a living hell and my appearance a white palette and red polka-dotted caricature.

My solution was to not shave often during the fall and winter seasons and clear cut for special occasions. I subscribed to American, I mean here US American, society’s normative that women should be smooth, slim and otherwise primped and plucked. Combined with my own dislike of body hair, I often felt very sensitive about how hairy I perceived myself to be and the moreso when out in public.

Three and a half years ago, I decided to change my life. I decided to get fit and break out of the inward tendencies that had me eating a great deal and sitting in front of a computer for most hours of the day and night. Initially this meant going down to the Kits outdoor pool a few blocks away and chock full of beautiful people. Shaving and then going swimming was a guaranteed disaster for my skin. So I would go down to the pool and swim in my board shorts and one piece, conscious of my hairy legs the whole time. A few months after starting swimming, I started to run. This too was hard for me because when I exercise I sweat, a lot. In both of these attempts to master my body again I was forced to accept the fact that I was not going to look graceful or attractive. And it began to irritate me that anyone would expect a person to look perfectly coiffed while exercising. It just isn’t realistic.

So I went out running in shorts when I hadn’t shaved my legs. I wore headbands that made my hair stick up in odd ways to keep the sweat out of my eyes.

I put on spandex.

Because the fact of the matter is that anyone who is serious about exercising isn’t out to look at the other people that are exercising or worry about how they look while they’re doing their thing. If you’re out for your run, your bike ride, rollerblading or swim – all you’re focusing on is your workout. Who cares if someone out on their run, bike ride, blading or swimming is a hairy, sweaty mess? Good on them, at least they’re out and about doing something.

I started exercising to become more fit but it also allowed me to become more comfortable with my body as it was, and is and will be. I still have a lot of hangups, nineteen years of thinking about your weight will do that (When I was eight, I lay in bed one night utterly convinced that my stomach was “stuck” in and I couldn’t get it to relax. I lay there trying to stick my belly back out but couldn’t get beyond the fact that it wouldn’t budge because I had been holding it in all day long.), but at least I’m able to remind myself of my achievements.