adults were doing, but I had ADD and I was four, so I actually
had no idea what was going on – I would just dance like crazy
in front of the mirror. I didn’t like being given instructions or told
how to do things. I still don’t; I like to do things my own way. The
culture around sports at school was jock-like, aggressive and
sexist. My family didn’t have the money to indulge in team sports,
but even if we had, I was told I wouldn’t be good at it – not by
anyone in particular, but by the culture: fat kids aren’t meant to be
good at sports, right? Sometimes I think those who weren’t cut
out for a life of running laps in PE lessons should have just been
left alone. Let us draw, let us dance, but for the love of God, do
not make us run. The voices in my head – my mom, who was
struggling with her own weight; society; my teachers – made me
believe I was too big to run, that the kids would laugh and that
trying wasn’t even worth it because I wouldn’t be able to climb
the hill or run the damn laps.
But I had a eureka moment when it dawned on me that I liked
what was happening: I was getting better at running, I was getting
better at moving. PE wasn’t about me – no-one was even looking
at me, they were all just running their own race. So I ran. I may
have been at the back of the pack, running in socks, but I moved,
and moving was good, moving made me feel fucking great.
Exercise, whether it was running, softball or balloon toss (throwing
a balloon filled with water – I was Olympic-level good at that) –
wasn’t about anything other than showing myself I could do
something no-one else thought I could, and that made me
competitive. I suddenly became the girl who
muttered under her breath, “For the love of
God, she’s batting again,” when we weren’t
winning; who shouted “Goddamit, Becky!”
when my classmate shied away from a spike
in volleyball. I wanted to win.
I started going to the gym when I was
a redhead, aged 28. I chronicle my life by the
hair I had at the time. My dad was diagnosed
with rheumatoid arthritis in his forties, and it
ultimately rendered him wheelchair-bound.
I was pushing 30 and didn’t want the same
fate. I wanted to keep moving, but, more
importantly, I wanted to continue performing,
so Ineededto keep moving.
So I got a personal trainer, but as soon as
he started to boss me around, I stopped using him. I don’t like
being told what to wear either, so I go to the gym looking like a
frump. I’ll go in pyjama bottoms. I don’t wear makeup to the
gym, I don’t even brush my hair. I brush my teeth, though,
because that would be gross otherwise. This is why I think the
gym is so great – it’s one of the only places I feel free from any
kind of “look”. I can give zero fucks and just go for it. And by “go
for it”, I mean go batshit crazy on the cross trainer – it’s the only
machine I use. I wasn’t worried about people thinking I was fat
at the gym; I was worried I wasn’t going to know what I wasdoing on the machines and would look like an idiot. I tried the
rowing machine but I wasn’t coordinated enough – I just slid
back and forth and I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works. I tried
the treadmill but the fear of falling off was too great. So the
internet became my personal trainer. If I felt like I was doing
something wrong, I’d google to find the right way. I’m really
strong, like, bull-in-a-china-shop strong – I hug too tightly, shake
hands too firmly – so there’s a lot of muscle under here, but
I don’t do weights. The one time I did I started to look like The
Hulk. The gym is like a sewing machine: you have to learn how it
do it right to get the best results. You can’t just shove a piece of
fabric in there and expect to make a dress. But best of all, there’s
air conditioning.
I’m not a fan of group classes. I thought a HIIT class was
punching, but then I found out what it really was and decided
there was no way I wanted to do that. Zumba is a “Hell, no!”
I don’t want to be on anyone else’s page, I want to be on my own.
The gym is my time; it’s a sacred, meditative place where I can just
be. I am such a people person, and Lord knows I can talk, but
sometimes I need my own headspace. The gym is the only place
I listen to music I’m working on, but for the most part, I like listening
to someone like Tori Amos. I like going double-time to slow songs.
Have you ever listened to “Heartbeats” by The Knife on the cross
trainer? Do it now. That is my ultimate gym jam.
When it comes to other people in the gym, occasionally you
will have that fat-girl moment where you clock another fat girl
and you have this nod of acknowledgement
like, “We both know why we’re here and we
can do this.” If you’re fat, I think you have the
fear – not of the gym, but of other fat people
thinking you’re selling out; that you’re trying to
change yourself, that you’re trying to get rid of
a label. Thank God the body-positive
movement came in and affirmed that, actually,
you can be fat and take care of your body.
That is all I am trying to do.
The only time I have ever been strict with
myself in terms of diet and exercise was in the
run-up to marrying my wife, Kristin. I wasn’t
shedding weight for the wedding so much as
maintaining my weight for the wedding, and
that was hard. Jean Paul Gaultier made my
dress (that is the most chi-chi thing I have ever said) and once he
has taken your measurements, you can’t mess with that – it’s
Gaultier! And it got me thinking: is this what people do all the
time? Is this how people live their lives? Because I certainly will
not. Eat whatever you want and exercise whenever you want to
exercise. I haven’t been to the gym in months because I got hair
extensions and that shit’s expensive. I can’t risk sweating them
out! When you do exercise, do it to feel good about yourself
and good in your own body, not conform to someone else’s
standards!E“I go to the
gym looking
like a frump.
I’ll go in
pyjama
bottoms...
I do brush
my teeth,
though”As told to Billie Bhatia. Photography: Sofia Sanchez and Mauro Mongiello. Styling: Donna Wallace