Dear Nicole Arbour,

These are my legs.

They do not belong to someone who “smells like sausage.”

They do not belong to someone who is lazy.

They do not belong to someone who has diabetes, high blood pressure, or sleep apnea.

And those knees? They’re not bad.

Those cellulite-covered, chunky legs and chubby knees belong to me. All 190 pounds of me.

Those cellulite-covered, chunky legs and chubby knees belong to a Zumba instructor.

Those cellulite-covered, chunky legs and chubby knees have carried these 190 pounds through three 25k trail races, a half-marathon, two 10ks, three Warrior Dashes, and at least two dozen 5ks.

Those cellulite-covered, chunky legs belong to someone who wavers between “normal” size and “plus-size” on a day to day basis.

I’m not lazy. I don’t smell like sausage. I don’t have diabetes, high blood pressure, or sleep apnea. I’m not “plus knee problems” or “plus heart disease.”

I love vegetables. I crave salads. I eat more fruit than I probably should.

However, I love food in general.

I love baking, cooking new recipes, going out for dinner somewhere I’ve never been. I love spending my Saturdays tasting wine and sampling beer.

I’m not going to sit in on a Friday night munching on carrots so I can look like the “normal-weight” girls who are out on a Friday night eating pizza and drinking beer.

Not me. I’ll be out with them because I’m not going to sacrifice the things I enjoy because people like you think I’m disgusting because I’m “obese.”

I agree with you. It makes me sad when I see “TLC special fat” people at the grocery store on a motorized scooter. I wish I could tell them to just get up and walk around the store to get their groceries. It makes me sad when I see a morbidly obese person making his fifth trip to the buffet at a restaurant. I want to slap the plate out of his hand and tell him to stop.

But it’s not that easy.

It’s a vicious cycle.

Obesity may not be a disease, but it has roots beyond what you see. It’s mental. It’s a daily struggle that’s often rooted in depression, anxiety, obsessive thoughts, body dysmorphic disorder, and beyond. It’s not as easy as choosing the salad instead of the French fries or a bottle of water instead of a Pepsi. These roots go beyond these choices and take more than diet and exercise to fix.

They take days, months, and years of mental help.

Nicole, you don’t know what people are struggling with.

You would take one look at me and think that I’m sitting on the couch every night shoving bags of potato chips in my face. What you wouldn’t see are the 700 miles I’ve logged this year alone, the healthy choices I make more often than the bad choices I make.

I have worked my ass off (literally) over the last six years to take better care of myself and no matter what I do, those chunky legs, thick thighs, and big booty just won’t go away. That’s just me.

I don’t need to be 120 pounds to be happy. In fact, I know many 120 pound women who couldn’t run a mile, let alone a 5k or a half-marathon.

It makes me sad that so much ignorance can be wrapped up in such a pretty package.

Now excuse me. I need to go shower off the sweat from my morning four-miler.

Love,

H