“It should take us about 45 minutes of hiking through the jungle to get to the site where we will be doing the rappelling,” the tour guide said to the group of a dozen tourists fanned out around him on a remote dirt road. His eyes passed over me and Glenn and he added, “but it could take up to an hour and a half, depending on the pace of the group.” 

This wasn’t the first time I’ve encountered someone looking at my fat body and making assumptions about my physical conditioning. It certainly wasn’t going to be the last. It happens with some regularity, and I try not to let it get under my skin because I know that in the coming hours, we’ll all be on the same page about what I can and can’t do. 

The guide made eye contact with me and ominously added, “there are three big hills we need to climb to get there. The second and third hills are particularly steep and difficult.” 

With that, we were off. 

As we entered the jungle path we immediately began a steep incline and the guide all but ran up the trail. I recall thinking he was setting an unusually fast pace given the large size of the group, but I proceeded at a pace that felt comfortable for me. I’m a firm believer in the “hike your own hike” mantra and wanted to enjoy the sights and sounds of the jungle that enveloped me. 

Glenn and I arrived at the top of the hill not long after the guide. We found him sitting on a rock…red faced, panting, with sweat dripping down his body. He visually assessed us as we crested the summit and between his labored breaths he asked, “how are you doing?”

“Fine, thanks,” I replied. “But, wow, if that was the easiest hill, I can’t wait to see what the next two are like.” 

The pace of the hike slowed considerably after that first hill, with plenty of stops to rest and to learn about the flora and fauna we were seeing along the way. On the bus trip back to the headquarters the guide told me that he was surprised and impressed with how well we did. 

He divulged that he and other guides set an extra fast pace up the first hill to both assess the physical fitness of the group, and to get folks who maybe shouldn’t be doing the trek to voluntarily drop out early when it is still easy for them to get guests back out of the jungle and to the lodge to do some other fun activity for the day. 

I understand their need to do this. 

Every day these guides must take large groups of folks that are unknown to them, and who have a range of physical abilities, into the jungle to do arduous and dangerous activities. They must get all their guests in and out safely, on a strict timeline. They have no shortage of stories of tourists getting in above their heads in ways that, at best, result in inconveniencing the entire group, and at worst, result in serious medical emergencies requiring evacuation. 

Their ‘sprint up the first hill…with dire warnings that it only gets worse from there’ is the way these guides have devised to help them quickly assess the situation in a way that leaves them options to keep folks safe and make sure most guests get their money’s worth out of the experience. 

I’ve experienced some version of this on almost every guided adventure trip or tour I’ve done.

It’s a necessary part of the process for the guides to understand what they have to work with and to calibrate their approach to the scheduled activities and adventures. I don’t begrudge the guides their need to collect this information. It’s one thing for me to say I can hike hills or long distances, quite another to demonstrate it before we get into a difficult situation out in the field. 

This most recent jungle experience was notable only because it was less nuanced…meaning the “we may need to cull the fat folks from the herd” message was less disguised than usual. Although the undercurrent of implicit bias was more palpable, it was really no different than what I experience on a regular basis in one form or another.

Fat-bodied folks, such as myself, get presumptive messages about what we are and aren’t capable of on a daily basis. 

For example, when I visit national forests and parks, I make a habit of going into the visitor centers to ask the staff to orient me to the hiking trails. Almost without fail, they discreetly look me over and proceed to point out the trails they assume I’m interested in. “This trail is nice and short,” or “this trail is relatively easy and flat.” 

Or when I go to buy running shoes the salesperson often asks if I wouldn’t rather look at their lovely selection of walking shoes instead.

Or recently I enjoyed the impossible task of trying to buy a running hydration vest that would comfortably fit my body. Apparently, gear manufacturers have determined that fat bodies are incapable of running distances that might necessitate drinking water and therefore plus sizes aren’t needed.

Sometimes, the ‘you don’t belong’ messages come nicely wrapped. 

Like unsolicited advice such as “This is a difficult trail; Did you mean to take the fork to the right back there instead?”

Or faux concern like “Should you be running? I’m worried you’re going to damage your knees.”

Or patronizing encouragement like “Keep going, you’re almost to the top of the hill.” 

Sometimes, the ‘you don’t belong’ messages are more blatant and outright. 

An avid fat-bodied hiker I follow on social media (@Andyfilmsandhikes) shared an experience he had recently. A runner passed him on the trail, then turned around to ask, “do you even know how to use all of that fancy hiking gear?” 

Andy laughed it off in the moment but was understandably frustrated and wanted to tell the runner that he absolutely knew how to use it, in fact the manufacturers of the gear he was wearing had been sponsoring him for years.

I doubt the trail runner was sponsored by anyone other than his overly inflated ego and sense of self-importance. 

Entitlement and superiority directed at fat bodies doing physical activities is ever present.

It’s as though purpose-built gear – hydration vests, running shoes, wet/dry suits, sleeping bags, backpacking packs, kayaks, climbing harnesses – are meant for the exclusive use of those that have earned the right to them…by not being fat. 

In addition, many of the spaces where these activities happen are also considered sacred and off limits to fat bodies. Desirable running routes, technical hiking trails, yoga studios, gyms, community pools…just a few of the places where fat bodies are often made to feel unwelcome. 

Our fat-phobic society shuns the idea of seeing my thighs and ass jiggle as I shoggle along at my 15 minute per mile running pace. It grimaces at the sight of my back fat as it crests over the top of my sports bra – which is innocently trying to do the heroic job of holding everything together, bless it! Our society tells me I should be ashamed of my ragged mouth-breathing as I lumber up a big hill while hiking. 

It is not uncommon to be made to feel that the sights and sounds of my fat body doing physical activities is unwelcomed in polite society and is therefore best done in the privacy of my own home, or not at all.

Luckily, I’m one of those people who generally doesn’t give two figs about what people think.

I’m happy taking up space – literally and figuratively – in places where fat bodies aren’t typically seen. I fill my social media feed with like-minded folks. There’s even a hashtag #FatBodiesDoingThings (hence the title of this post) aimed at normalizing the sight of fat bodies hiking, biking, doing yoga, dancing, surfing, and anything else that puts a smile on their face.

But, the constant headwinds of fat-phobia, fat-shaming and general assumptions about what fat bodies can and should be doing can become exhausting at times. I’ve recently noticed that my personal defenses to push back on those notions began to weaken and, as a result, my internal narrative had shifted. 

This all came to a head about two months ago.

This past fall Glenn and I found ourselves stuck in an exercise rut that left us out of shape and feeling uninspired about getting out and being active. We decided to do another round of the “Couch to 5k” running program in hopes that the structure would give us the motivation we needed to get back on track, as it had done for us in the past. 

After about a month of doing this, I found myself at the point in the program where I was supposed to graduate from running 3-minute intervals (with walking in between), to running 5-minute intervals. My first attempt at running 5-minutes straight just about killed me. I decided to move back and repeat the week of 3-minute intervals. Week after week I did this…staying at the 3-minute interval mark and feeling like that was all I had to give. 

I ultimately resigned myself to the fact that this was the most I could do. 

My days of running longer intervals, much less longer distances, were behind me. Compared to my running peak about 8 years ago…I have gained back some weight and gotten older, not to mention menopause has been dramatically shifting how my body functions. 

Things are very different than they used to be, and it’s normal to reach a point in your life where what was once possible isn’t any longer. I gave up on the “Couch to 5k” program and settled for a future filled with leisurely runs of a couple of miles, made up of short spurts of jogging with walking in between.

About that same time, a lovely woman and ultra-runner I follow on Instagram who is breaking stereotypes left and right – Mirna Valerio (@themirnavator) – started posting about a group she was organizing as part of her “The Mirnavator Slow as Fuck Trail Running Adventures.” 

The upcoming adventure would be a trail running race in the Azores, a small group of volcanic islands belonging to Portugal in the middle of the North Atlantic. She was organizing a group of slow-paced runners to join her on one of several of the available race distances ranging from 10k (~6 miles) to 118k (~74 miles) over and around the beautiful islands.

As it turns out, Glenn and I were already planning to be in Portugal around the same time. Whenever Mirna would post about the opportunity, I felt a little pang in my heart as I thought, “there was a time in my life I would have jumped at the chance to do something like that.” It was reminiscent of the time we decided on a whim to run a half-marathon in Croatia. 

But those days were behind me. 

Without a doubt, the Azores volcano running adventure wasn’t in the cards for me. I had no shortage of reasons why I couldn’t do it. The timing wasn’t right because we’d just be ending a big 3-week trip to Portugal, and we’d already bought our plane tickets home. The race distances were further than I could run. I couldn’t do silly spontaneous things like that anymore; my body just wasn’t capable. 

I found myself thinking about it all the time though.

Imagining what it would feel like to run atop the summit of the volcano, and then down the back side. What it would be like to share the trail with other like-minded and like-paced runners who were just there to have a good time. As quickly as I would box up and pack away the notion of going, it would spring forth again in another way. It was as if the universe was screaming at me that I needed to do this.

As I was slogging away at my 3-minute intervals on a rainy and cold morning run, I finally gave in and decided I’d say yes. On the way home I told Glenn that I felt like I needed to go and that he was welcome to join me, but that he didn’t have to. 

One of the things I love most about Glenn is that is he’s almost always up for anything and true to form he said “okay, let’s do it.” As soon as we got home, I signed us up for Mirna’s trip and we started training in earnest the very next day. 

We mapped out a training program that would get us to a point of (in theory) being able to run a half-marathon by race day. The initial training distances, while not far, were considerably longer than the 3-minute intervals I had been struggling to do.

It seemed impossible…yet I had no choice but to try.

I was under no illusions that I would be setting any speed records during this race, but I knew each day I got myself out to train increased the odds that I would have a big smile on my face when I reached the summit of the volcano…just like those lovely folks in that photo. I wanted that for myself.

It hasn’t been easy, or fast, or pretty…but I’m astonished at the progress I’ve made over the past several weeks. I’ve gradually been adding miles and yesterday I ran 8.5 miles…which at my pace, is essentially a 2-hour interval, lol. That’s a definite step up from 3-minutes.

It seems a big, enticing, hard, scary, and expensive challenge was just what I needed to bust through the mental block that had been keeping me stuck. It helped shift my internal narrative from one of “those days are behind me” to one of “my body can still do amazing things.”   

So, yea. Glenn and I are about to run ~16 miles up and over a volcano in the middle of the North Atlantic.

Prior to that, we’re going to be hiking 100+ miles through Portugal and Spain, a feat I’m equal parts nervous and excited about. We will be pushing our bodies to the brink of what they are currently capable of. Maybe even beyond.  

This experience has been such a good reminder that I need to stay vigilant about countering the external messages and internal narratives about what I can and can’t do.  

My body is amazing and is capable helping me experience extraordinary things! While I’m never going to be fast, and I’m certainly never going to be performing as an elite athlete, I can absolutely get out and do the activities that bring me joy.

I’m eager to see what happens next!!!