I read a really interesting article on CNN today about cankles. Before I tell you what cankles are, I must say I have been hearing the term bandied about the net for at least a good year or thereabouts, and once CNN broke this late-breaking news I was really a little taken aback to discover that it’s like nobody heard of this at all. I must be ahead of the trend in extreme body consciousness.
Cankles, as defined by about 700 girls I know (of), are when your calves go straight down to your ankles. I have heard this described as something like Elephantiasis, and I must say that I cannot really justify that explanation. That’s insane, and a proof of just how excruciatingly we examine our bodies and find our bad qualities to be magnified zillions of times over.
Cankles isn’t some medical disorder or something. It can happen from being overweight, having heart problems or Diabetes or even from just retaining lots of water. For lots of people, however, it’s the result of their body being shaped the way it is. Every person’s ankles can’t be like delicately shaped porcelain and stuff. I don’t even know why this is an issue.
I do not have cankles. I used to, I think. I suffered a lot of ankle injuries as a kid and am overweight. Not terribly horribly but enough to need to exercise and eat properly, both of which I do. My ankles seemed perpetually swollen. I hated them and I felt they were so ugly. When I moved to my current sunny desert locale, the cankles magically melted away. I don’t know how it happened but one day I looked down and saw actual delicate, feminine ankles. I didn’t fall to the ground worshipfully or anything though. We have too many biting ants and by then I hardly cared about my ankles because I wasn’t suffering any sort of pain or having any problems for the first time in about 10 years. I thought it was the natural progression of not being so clumsy anymore.
This makes me think, though. Look at our society. 100 years ago young ladies wanted to be educated and well-spoken, highly thought of and full of initiative. Not that young ladies don’t want that today as well, but it’s got to be difficult to worry about those things what with the added worry about whether one’s ankles look fat, or whether one’s butt looks big in these.
What kind of a society do we live in where we can’t seem to find a happy medium between health and appearance? Where some people are so driven by resentment at people’s assumptions of them that they take pride in being unhealthy, in eating the worst foods all the time. And where some other people take up an attitude condemning all who don’t *look* like something, as not trying hard enough.
It’s not okay to treat your body like it doesn’t matter where it counts, whether that’s getting stupid cankle-lipo or stuffing yourself with pizza rolls in a pretty shameless display of not-giving-a-fuck-about-your-health-at-all. Regardless of where you stand on what issue in the world your body is your only vehicle to make it from a to b and back.
From being overweight I know what it’s like to feel ashamed and embarrassed and resentful and hateful of “skinny bitches” and from being very thin I know what it’s like to be told to eat a sandwich or that you can see my bones. I’m leaning a little more toward overweight right now than thin (okay WAY more) but I have come to a place with my body that I like to think is closer to equilibrium than I’ve ever been before.
It’s not perfect. Not even close. I have a bad knee from an injury (dashboard knee) and the usual sorts of random issues that come from ignorance of one’s own body over a long period of time. My cholesterol is low, my blood pressure is low, my doctor says I’m a healthy girl for my weight. I picked up a habit of walking at night (what I am really doing is casing my apartment complex to figure out the best time of the middle of the night to assault the date palm by the rental office and score my baby some fruits), and am hyping myself up to re-start one hundred push ups because she wants me to keep being able to lift her as she edges over to 7. I sleep better, my bones don’t hurt the way they used to, I don’t get winded so easily. I found a great way to stay under my allocated calories for the day (seriously you all need a blender and a supply of fresh berries and some wheat germ. Make SMOOTHIES!) and these pants I got recently are so too-big that even a hot wash and extended stay in the dryer on “high” doesn’t keep them from creeping down my hips and I’m on the last hole on my belt.
I have a while to go but I’m feeling better already and regardless of what’s hot these days and what is a sexy body, I’m happy to have one that works just fine and that I don’t need a knee replacement or gastric bypass surgery or something. Not to slight those who do in the least; I’m simply very lucky and/or hardy. When I’m old and frail I won’t be worried about my curves as much as I will be wanting to make sure that my hips don’t break. I might as well start working now to ensure that never happens.
And I’m lucky that cankles or no, my leg-to-foot joint is in excellent working order and for the ladies (and maybe gents but I’m going to assume this is mainly the demesne of women) out there who worry about those stubborn cankles that just won’t go away remember this: they’re holding your feet up whether they’re unattractive or not and wouldn’t it suck if they looked great but you couldn’t walk without horrible pain or an unnatural (for humans) gait?
In closing, I leave you with this fable, always one of my favorites.
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