Chunky Dunkin: A Fat Girl’s Guide to the Peace Corps

The credit for the title of this little piece goes to my good friend Jenn who is back state side. Jenn introduced me to the idea that women of our...magnitude, don’t “skinny dip,” we “chunky dunk.” Thanks Jenn! I realize this post may come off as a little self deprecating, but seeing as NaNoWriMo starts today (if you don’t know what this is there is a link at the bottom of the page), which means I might not be posting as much this month, and that this is a topic I have wanted to cover for a while, I thought now or never!

In order to promote complete transparency while simultaneously creating a space of intimacy, I’m going to start off with some personal details. I am a 23 year old, size 16, 230lb, female. WHOA! That was cathartic, now if you think that is unhealthy (which I am sure some of you are) just think about the fact that had I posted this at the beginning of my service the sentence would have been: “I am a 22 year old, size 18, 250lb, female.” I’ve lost about 20lbs since joining Peace Corps and my hope is that I lose another 30lb before this whole jig is up. Weight is something I have struggled with my entire life, and even at my most fit while rowing for Michigan State and working out 10+ hours a week, I was somewhere in the 240 range. Mind you, I could probably leg press the majority of the people reading these posts, and I could certainly kick your butt on the water.

Taking that into account, I never thought my weight would be an issue when it came to joining Peace Corps. Hell, Peace Corps was going to get me outside of the US; and once I figured out I was going to Africa, I figured I was all set! In my head I thought: African women look more like me, African society appreciates a little extra cushion for the pushin, Africa is going to be awesome because I will finally be living in a place that doesn’t worship the kind of woman I will never be; skinny. And then the paperwork arrived...

There are some special hoops a plus sized individual gets to jump through prior to even getting on the plane when it comes to the PC application process. The first is that, since my BMI sent up a red flag, I had to assure Washington that I was fit enough to serve. I believe the questionnaire asked something along the lines of whether or not I could: “carry a bag of groceries up a flight of stairs.” I filled this paper work out after a 5:30am, 2 hour rowing practice and nearly laughed my head off. At that point I was doing cardio workouts 6 days a week, and weight work outs an additional 2 days. Though I did have to bow out of running steps with my teammates due to an ankle injury, that time was replaced with ergging. For those of you that have never erged, go try it out at your local gym and let me know what you think.

Alright, so the paperwork is filled out, I’ve convinced PC I’m fit to serve, and I’m on my way to Africa! Let us take a moment to explore the forethought that needs to go into the packing of overweight luggage (get it? Because I’m overweight...and sometimes people pack too much...get it?) I was leaving for Botswana in April, which means that I was arriving in the beginning of winter for southern Africa. We are talking jeans and long sleeve weather. This period only lasts till around September though, after which is gets incredibly hot and horrible. Repeat after me: chub rub. Chub rub is that horrible chaffing that goes down when you are sweaty and your bits and pieces are rubbin together. This is something the majority of people experience but it is extra pleasant for a plumper person. I throw out jeans, not because there are holes in the knees, but because there are holes in the thighs. I CAN NOT wear skirts without some type of shorts underneath because my legs will stick together and chafe raw.

In addition to this there are what I like to call “hoover undergarments” that must be considered (unless of course you are the woman below.) These are the wonderful items that a lady puts on, in order to suck those rolling hills of fat into curvaceous contoured curves and turn her muffin top into a slim jim. Most women have these, and there are especially needed for professional or formal situations; if you are heafty you just have to bring more of them. My answer to this was actually to bring every pair of spandex shorts I own; they are comfortable, I can fit them under stuff to smooth me out, I can put them under jeans when the thigh holes have rendered them indecent, and I was used to wearing them all the time for rowing.

Lastly, the more weight you are carrying, the more heat you retain due not only to your mass but to the fact that you are physically baring down with extra pounds on your body. This causes sweating as you may or may not know. I have always been a plus pound person of unparalleled perspiration, who is persistently peering at her pits to prevent unpleasant precipitations. I’m in an alliteration kind of mood today, forgive me. This could be due to that fact that I’m plus sized, or it could be because of the sneaking suspicion I have that I’m a victim of hyper-hydrosis. Either way, my answer to this problem was to not bring antiperspirant. I am going to sweat through anything and everything, with or without smearing aluminum on my armpits. That being the case, why not give it up for two years and bank some anti-cancer credit?

Finally I got to Botswana, the land of luscious ladies (okay last one, I swear) and I figure I am in the clear. WRONG. Though I am still of the firm belief that for the most part Botswana is friendlier to a larger person, this concept is slowly leaking out of the culture. My land lady in constantly telling me I need to go “gymming” so that I can be “slim”, one of my co-workers at the clinic, upon hearing that I had lost almost 9kg, said that was good since when I first came I was so big that she thought I was a man in a skirt, and for the first couple weeks people in the village thought I was the last volunteer but that she had just gotten “very fat fat.” The difference between people saying that here and people saying it back home is that people here aren’t trying to be rude or malicious.

I have received each one of the above comments, in some form or another, in the states during my life time. I was chased around a restaurant when I was younger by a friend’s brother’s hockey team being called a “tub of lard.” There was no kindness in their words, no want for me to be healthy, no level of acceptance; all of which I find here. Though “fat” isn’t the compliment it once was in Botswana, it is not a hurling insult either, it’s just a statement of physical fact, like saying someone’s eyes are blue, or that they are wearing a sweater. People call themselves fat, they call strangers fat, and they call loved ones fat; the quicker you pick up that this is a minor cultural difference and that your neighbors love you pound for pound, the happier you will be as a big person in Peace Corps.

As I get older I find that I love myself and my body more and more each year. Though it is still a work in progress, I find that I accept whatever stage of tuning I happen to be in, more so than I did in my teens. Peace Corps is just one step I have taken in the long journey that I walk in my own skin. Your body is your primary mode of transport no matter where you are, and being slimmer would have its own set of issues here as well. Learn to love it, because there are more important challenges to tackle and when push comes to shove the only person you need to square with at the end of the day will be looking at you in the mirror.  

Rata Thata,

Claire

ps: ww.nanowrimo.org, and I will post pictures to this later