THIS PHYSIQUE IS MY BEST FRIEND
Lorraine Candy, now 53
I HAVE always been ambivalent about my body. Sure I’d love a couple of extra inches in height and I occasionally peer at J-Lo’s gravitydefying buttocks with envy, but that aside I’ve accepted I’m genetically lucky to be a short, size 10 woman.
And for most of my life, I simply haven’t given my body shape or size much value. But when I hit 48 that changed. Peering down the barrel of 50 I had a surprise and unlikely revelation. I had come to really love my body. Not because of what it looked like, but because of what it had done for me.
Here I was in the last-chance saloon of looking vaguely youthful when I realised that didn’t matter any more. I loved being in my body like I loved spending time with good friends.
It had taken me through four pregnancies, one at the age of 43, it had stayed strong during my manic midlife crisis of exercise experiments with boxing, riding, running and long-distance swimming. It had always been there for me, even through the riotously unhealthy rave-filled booze-fuelled 1990s. I remember being in the shower one day, doing the death maths on my time left, and saying ‘thank you’ out loud to my body, cherishing it like a valuable possession and wondering why I’d not been more positive about it. This body has seen me through more than half a century of mothering, working and careless living. And I couldn’t ask for anything more.