BACK in February I read an article by Body Confidential editor, Lynda Moyo about a new women’s powerlifting class in Eccles, Salford entitled Strong is the New Skinny.
I was inspired. I was also surprised, though, when I reached the bottom of the article to discover the class was a five minute walk from where I live. I text and asked her why she hadn’t told me about it before. “Why don’t you come next week, then?” “Right then,” I said, “I will.”
And I did. And I’ve been every week since. And I love it.
What I’ve really enjoyed about our classes is none of the women are afraid of being strong. And let me tell ya, it’s empowering to be around women of that mindset.
The thing about me is, I’m strong. Damn strong. Always have been. Growing up, though, I hated being the tall, broad, strong girl. I hated being called ‘Amazonian’ (which was more often than not). Boys don’t like Amazons. Boys don’t like girls with thighs that could crush them à la James Bond’s Xenia Onatopp. Boys like girly girls with dainty figures.
And so, I always tried being smaller than I was ― literally and figuratively. The incredible shrinking girl, I played myself down in all the ways I knew how to make sure I didn’t stand out or above the crowd.
Xenia Onatopp's killing method was to crush lovers with her sturdy thighs
Then, in 2003, my personal trainer, Lee Irvine, introduced me to powerlifting. He thought I was built for, and would excel at it. And he was right. I was one of only a handful of people who powerlifted in our gym. Very few men did it and I’m not sure if any other women did. He beasted me, but I appreciated it. He knew I was strong and wanted to see what I was made of when pushed to my limit (which he did, every session). Finally, I’d found a place my physique was celebrated, a place I fit in.
After my trainer moved down south and life got in the way, powerlifting took a back seat. During the next couple of years, I piled on the pounds and got increasingly depressed. Then, in 2006, I took up running and, in 2007, signed up for three marathons (New York, Rome, Athens) over the next eighteen months.
Although my body may not have conformed to our culture’s ‘ideal’ body shape, it showed me it was strong and could endure; it could go the distance. And if I could complete three marathons, I could write a book.
What the marathon did, you see, was help me prove myself to myself. No matter how fast, no matter how slow, once you cross the marathon finish line it does something indescribable for your self-esteem that no one can ever take away from you. You’re a marathoner. End of.
Photo of Thea by Paul Wolfgang Webster. Marathons inspired Thea's book 'Running Into Myself' It was the self-esteem each of the three marathons instilled in me that gave me the courage to write my book. I now knew I was made of tough, enduring stuff. Didn’t matter I never finished college, never went to university; I knew I could go the distance. I knew I was intelligent and articulate and was no longer afraid of showing it. But it was my marathoning experience that got me through (my book). My hard earned physical and psychological strength and endurance carried over into the long, lonely days spent in front of my computer.
Although the marathons were life-changing and I had the time of my life doing them, running doesn’t feel like my most natural sport. Pounding pavements for hours on end can also lose its appeal after a while. My physique is explosive, dynamic. It needs pushing, challenging, otherwise my pent-up, unexpressed strength starts pacing the room and I get snappy – which is why I jumped at the opportunity of the powerlifting class.
What I’ve really enjoyed about our classes is none of the women are afraid of being strong. And let me tell ya, it’s empowering to be around women of that mindset. None of this wimpy, namby-pamby nonsense – enthusiastic, they’re straight in there, no messing about.
Tania George demonstrates a squat at Olympic Gym in Eccles
I was cautious initially, as I didn’t want to rush headlong into something before deciding that, actually, it wasn’t for me. But, each week, I’ve looked forward to the classes and enjoyed feeling thoroughly spent afterwards. What I most love, though, is how the women encourage one another to push themselves and be strong. (Watching Lynda hobble down the stairs after class also makes for great entertainment.)
Since I started studying Tantra last year, I’ve been on something of a mission to be as fully embodied as I can; to feel into my skin, enjoy my body, breathe as deep into my belly as possible. I’m tired of the self-flagellation I’ve whipped myself with for years. I am the shape I am and that’s that. And, you know what else I’ve discovered? The more you accept and celebrate the shape you are, right now, the more others seem to as well.
I nearly toppled over in my 4 inch heels recently, when a man approached all six foot of me shrink-wrapped in skinny jeans and told me what a fabulous figure he thought I had, especially my thighs. That same night, I overheard a man describe me as an Amazon. And, you know what? It was okay. Yeah, I smiled to myself, I am.
Follow Thea and Lynda’s powerlifting shenanigans on Twitter @StronGrrrlz
Main image by Derek Blanks
