I Want Abs

I want abs.

I.  Want.  Abs.

The core.  The abdominals.  The stomach.  I want it.

Have I been persuaded by the Instagram personalities on the interwebs, slyly smiling a coy grin while holding up their shirts for the world to see their perfectly tanned midsections, to invest in a waist trainer, to purchase colon cleanses, to shrink my waist to nothing?

Have I forgotten the years of battle, the checking in and out of eating disorder units because my quest to eliminate the little-to-non-existent roundness of my stomach forced me to restrict my daily meals to one Subway sandwich a day?

Let me reassure you that I could care less if my midsection doubles as a cheese grater.   I take off my shirt at the beach, not caring that when I sit I get the inevitable rolls of stomach because, well, I’m human and eat and that’s what happens to skin.  What I mean when I say “I want abs!” is that I want to be able to function, to move, to twist and turn and bend forward and back.  I want to be a human being.  I want a body.  I want a life.

In reality, abs are a muscle.  Everyone has them, so it’s pretty ridiculous to say one “wants abs.”  They are there.  We are born with them.  We will die with them.  It is a part of the body, a necessary part of the body, that without would cause one to literally keel over.

So yes, I want a body.  I want to feel the security of bending down to pick up my toddler son, knowing that I can carry him up flights of stairs.

I want a body.  I want to be able to heft four bags of groceries up the stairs without stopping because I can’t keep an upright torso.

I want a body.  I want to be able to walk around my classroom, to turn to talk with students, to engage in games and activities with them without trepidation.

There was a time when I was scared to move.  Literally, scared to do anything besides lie down.  I wasn’t sure that my frail skeleton-like body could support the weight of me doing anything other than be horizontal on the sofa.  Ironically, my quest to “have abs” left me with “no abs.”  I had little muscle.  I had little strength.  I had, well, little of nothing.

It was then, during that time when I was laying on the cushioned pillows, wondering, pondering, praying that I would be able to one day have the energy to live and move and breathe and live, that I decided I wanted abs.  But not of the six-pack variety.  I wanted strength.  I wanted a body.  I wanted a core, a solid feeling of being that could one day house a child, that could one day become a home to another human.

I wanted abs.

And many years later, almost two decades later, I was able to have the child, and then another.  My abs were able to be their protection, their shield.

And yet I still want abs.  Because as time goes on and the wrinkles around my eyes get more distinct, I realize that abs are still necessary, if not even more important.  The body is slowly breaking down.  Sadly, the ability to move, to function how I once did as a kid and young adult becomes more of a challenge.  With every year and decade that passes, it is that much more vital that I have abs.  I want a body that will sustain me to do God’s work.  I want a body that can be a light to others.

I want to have abs when I’m fifty.  When I’m sixty.  When I’m seventy.  And beyond.

So, yes, I want abs.

I.  Want.  Abs.

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