The collective delusion

In which I try to be more like Audre Lorde, and less like Audrey Hepburn

Reading time: 13 minutes

I thought I was silly, at first, talking publicly about how uncomfortable I feel about my body – or, as I saw it then, acknowledging what I was sure everyone already knew, which was that I just looked wrong, I was too big to be taken seriously as a cyclist, and that I didn’t deserve the status that I somehow had. I was sure that everyone was just being nice, and that behind all the compliments and congratulations were whispered caveats.

Image credit: Samantha Saskia Dugon

“It’s a shame she’s not a bit slimmer though.”

“Good for her, winning races when she’s really overweight for a cyclist.”

“Bit awkward, that we have to celebrate someone who’s so chubby.”

“I don’t know how you can do all the riding she apparently does, and still be fat.”

As I’ve explained before, my assumption that this was how everyone saw me somehow didn’t lead me to develop an eating disorder, or take any other drastic measures to try and change my body. But it did affect the way I related to people and communities in all sorts of subtle ways. I always assumed that I was unwelcome, or only grudgingly accepted, or on the verge of being kicked out. I felt happier and safer alone, with no one looking at me, and although I feel very sad when I think about some of the opportunities (social and professional) I missed over the years, things did work out pretty well for me. I have written two books, and basically built a career, on riding long distances all on my own. And what’s more, I now consider that my happy place.

But when I started to talk about body image a couple of years ago, mostly on Instagram, I was unprepared for what would happen. The first shocking thing was that thousands and thousands of people responded. It turned out I had touched a nerve, and most people (or at least, most people raised as women) seem to feel this way. Again and again, I received messages from women I envied, whose bodies I’d thought flawless, whose confidence seemed unimpeachable, saying:

“Yes, me too.”

“Oh my god, me too.”

“Thanks, I needed to hear this today.”

“Yes, I feel exactly the same.”

Some of them shared photos that they hadn’t dared to post, and I scrutinised these in puzzlement, trying to understand which body part they had decided was so embarrassingly large or bulgy that it was unfit for public display. Many told me stories of the things they’d denied themselves – food, rest, new clothes, social interaction, cycling community – because they felt they didn’t deserve them until their body was a certain size.

This was the second shocking thing: all the people I’d thought fitted into the ‘thin and pretty’ bracket seemed to have exactly the same body image problems I had. It was almost as though it had nothing to do with one’s actual weight, size or appearance.