The “Fit” Myth

By Mallory McPherson-Wehan

My dad has run six 100-mile ultramarathons and at age 76 still runs 7-10 miles a day.  My mom is an avid biker and runner, with a half Iron Man, a 100-mile run, and numerous cycle centuries under her belt. Growing up with two parents so steeped in physical fitness, I made certain assumptions. I assumed my parents’ exercise routines were normal. I assumed that anything less than what they did wasn’t exercise. I assumed that their approach to physical fitness was the only way to be fit. I assumed I would never achieve their level of athleticism. In middle school I tried cross country and usually finished near the back. I didn’t enjoy it. I played basketball in middle school and high school but never had the competitive drive to win. My dad paid me to shoot the ball. I ran track in high school and picked hurdles. Again, this was not the sport for me. Though having to jump over obstacles gave me an excuse to be slow, I didn’t enjoy it. When I was 16, my mom and step dad convinced me to bike across Iowa with them. I was slow. The ride was hard. Until that point, exercise wasn’t something to look forward to, much less something to do daily. I couldn’t fathom my parents’ incessant enjoyment with what seemed to me to be a daily slog of misery.

Body Pump, a strength workout choreographed to music, was the first form of exercise I remember enjoying. In that class, I realized that there were other ways to be fit that didn’t involve the mainly cardiovascular forms of exercise my parents seemed to prefer. That was the beginning of my deep love for group fitness. I began participating in various group fitness classes and loved the sense of community, energy, and friendly competition. The instructors at the YMCA were mostly middle-aged or older, so until I reached college I didn’t understand that people my age could teach. I took my first Body Pump class at GW and was appalled when the instructor said she was a junior in college! I frantically emailed the fitness and wellness coordinator (ironically my job now) about how I could teach Body Pump. I took GW Campus Recreation’s group fitness prep class and received my Body Pump certification, soon followed by my Spinning, Zumba, Pink Gloves Boxing, and TRX certs. The following semester I took the personal trainer prep class and passed my American Council on Exercise Personal Trainer exam. My fitness persona was coming together.

I marinated in the world of fitness, taking it all in. I integrated strength training into my routine and brought back some running. I taught 8-10 group fitness classes a week; I had 4 personal-training clients. Seeing my parents vigorously exercise every day had skewed my view of rest. “Rest” for my dad was running six miles instead of ten. For most of college, I don’t think I took a single day off from working out. A day without exercise was a day ruined. It made me feel bad about myself. I just felt lethargic and sad. Even on days I felt like resting, I pushed myself to run or lift. 

I’m embarrassed to say that this mentality stuck with me until COVID hit. When I went to Thailand with Makena in December of 2019, we had a long conversation about movement. I defended my internalized and compulsive view of exercise as healthy and normal. In retrospect, it was a defense mechanism. That conversation marked the beginning, a tiny spark. Starting LYT Yoga and learning about intuitive eating turned the spark into a flame. There had to be a better way.

And there was! Early in 2020 I realized that I had become obsessed with using my Apple watch as a means of measuring my “fitness.” See this article for more on that. I decided to take it off. The first few days without the device were both terrifying and liberating. “But how am I going to know if I’m fit?” I remember thinking. When I first learned about intuitive eating, I was skeptical. I had never really been a dieter, but throwing out all of diet culture seemed like an overreaction. The concept of intuition was novel to me. Listen to my body? That made no sense. I didn’t trust my body. I also struggled with the concept of intuitively moving. My relationship with movement was shaped by years of witnessing my parents exercise every day, absorbing the mentality of sports teams, and by exposure to other fitness instructors who demonstrated a poor example of balanced wellness. “Why should I listen to my body?” I thought. “It’s going to tell me not to exercise, and then I’ll gain weight.” I owed my fear of gaining weight to the media, the fitness industry, diet culture, and my parents. As a fitness instructor and personal trainer, I found it difficult to separate my fitness level from my worth. “My weight is my worth,” I thought. I never understood why people would want to train with me -- someone who hardly looked more “fit” than they were.

The first step toward changing my beliefs involved examining labeling and terminology. “What does healthy even mean, Mallory?” Makena had asked in Thailand. I cited government physical activity guidelines and immediately regretted it. This word we throw around so cavalierly and use to label others has no meaningful definition. This behavior is healthy, but that behavior isn’t. It really made no sense. This insight alarmed me, so I continued my questioning. What did “fit” mean? What constituted “exercise”? What was “good” food and “bad” food? What was a “productive” day? Who was “athletic”? The answers hit me like a ton of bricks. These words mean nothing, yet they mean so much to people. I had defined myself by these words for so long, thinking they had meaning and gave me worth as a human. Who was I without these labels?

I can’t say I totally have an answer for that. I just know that I have become more comfortable with questioning the normative language we use in society. In May, I started studying for my health coach exam and was appalled by the textbooks’ reliance on physical assessments, exercise metrics, and food journals to evaluate a client. During my personal trainer prep class, the instructor drilled into us that physical assessment was crucial to keeping clients accountable and on track. So when I had a client who seemed more hurt than helped by these metrics, I had no idea what to do. No one had taught me another way to help clients assess their growth. Training that client challenged me so much, taught me more than any other fitness experience, and sits with me to this day. Did I handle the situation adequately? How could I have been more prepared to help her? Did I end up making her experience with fitness better or worse? 

Having passed my health coach exam in late August, I continue to struggle with what my role looks like in this environment. The more I learn about racism in the fitness industry, the lack of inclusive spaces to move, and how the language of fitness impacts participants, the more I question why I would want to continue being a fitness professional. Am I really helping anyone? As I start to enjoy movement more and heal my deep struggle with exercise, I think I’ve become an even better instructor -- more compassionate, less judgemental and prescriptive. But how do I really take all I’m learning now and make changes in this industry? Should I get a PhD and do research on the dangers of trackable exercise metrics? Should I start a studio that is driven by the principles of joyful movement? Should I just sit back and let others lead? 

Here is what I know now: The fitness industry needs to evolve. We need to completely change the way we talk about movement and nutrition. Fitness professionals need to be trained on more than physical assessments when it comes to measuring growth. We also need to be trained on anti-racism, fat-phobia, intuitive movement, and diet culture. We need to reevaluate our cues and language in fitness classes and take out words and phrases that make people feel like they don’t belong. We need to listen more to our participants but also ourselves. We are role models, providing examples in how we treat and speak about our bodies. If we don’t believe rest is important, why should our participants or clients? 

Things I’ve said to clients, class participants, friends, students, and others make me cringe. I hope more than anything that my relationship to myself and movement did not color their own relationships. I still have much to learn. But rather than just letting myself feel disappointed and angry for potentially impacting others’ relationships, I want to change! I want to help other people see why movement can and should be joyful. I want to help others feel good in their bodies through proper alignment and mobility. I want to encourage others to rest and breathe. 

Above all, I’m thankful for so many  people who patiently helped me question social norms, diet culture, the fitness industry, and my own behavior and words. I also don’t want to paint my parents as the catalysts for my disordered relationship with movement. I think in many ways they found joyful movement for themselves. The problem was that I assumed their version of joyful movement had to be mine, too. Only recently did I recognize that fully. 

No matter where you are on your journey to healing your relationship with movement, body image, and nutrition, I promise it is worth it. You’ll never be entirely healed. I don’t think that is realistic. I fight negative thoughts about my body still, usually daily. But fighting against those thoughts feels empowering and revolutionary. I don’t have all the answers, but I’m excited to continue learning, questioning, and growing. It’s been a long journey -- and I’m only 25!