Living in Japan is, in so many ways, absolutely amazing. The people in my town are nice, the food is delicious, and no matter what the season or weather, it's always stunning outside. However, living in Japan also brings forth a daily barrage of attacks on my self-esteem. These come when I look in a window and see myself in the reflection next to a Japanese woman my age, or when I try to shop for a nice work skirt, or when some bratty kid thinks I don't understand でぶ (fatty)...or, most recently, when health checks roll around.
The logical part of my brain recognizes that I'm in a country where an L or LL (XL) size is an American size 8. Unfortunately, my logical brain is always busy with, you know, operating in Japanese when I'm out. This means it can't shut up my emotional brain when it looks at the LLL tag on a piece of clothing and sobs, "I'm a whaaaaaaale!" On a good day, I can believe it when I remind myself that hey, LLL is 10-12, what I've worn since forever.
School health check BMI charts are similarly problematic. They're adjusted for what's perceived to be the average Japanese build, and then applied to everyone--including foreign women with naturally bigger builds than some of the men. I'd lost 7 kilos since arriving, and that was still the most embarrassing doctor's appointment of my life.
It all adds up. I took a good, long look at my bankbook and family medical history and decided, fine. I'll join the gym.
Japanese gyms are mind-blowing. At least at first. Then you realize that it all makes sense.
The best way to explain this is through the WiiFit. (The WiiFit is a balance board connected to a Wii fitness video game program that measures your weight and balance and has game-like exercises.) Stay with me. When you start using the WiiFit, it measures your weight, BMI, and balance. It then begins to track all of it, requiring the user to weigh and measure themselves each time they wish to play. When I signed up for my gym, they had me stand on a body comp analysis machine that read my weight, fat percentage, musculature, and balance rations and even provided me with my base metabolic rate and an explanation of how it related to my muscle density. A personal trainer then explained it all to me and came up with a set of exercises meant specifically to address imbalances and help with my weight.
Like with the WiiFit, every time I go to the gym, I have to weigh myself and take my blood pressure before the personal trainers let me on the machines. They record my weight and
make a pencil and paper chart to show me that I'm improving, quarter kilo by quarter kilo. They come by while I lift and ask how much I'm lifting compared to last time. They tell me how exactly to use the weights to hit targeted areas. They recommend speeds on the bike and elliptical. They ask what I ate for lunch.
Even at my skinniest and most fit, no one with expertise ever really helped me make the connection between the actions of eating well and exercising and the results. They drew the weight loss graph a scale that made the small amount of weight I was losing a day--less than half a pound--seem like a big step
because little steps are big steps. At American gyms, unless you pay through the nose, you get one or two sessions with a trainer. Here, there are 3 on staff at 11 at night. The gym is invested in its members' wellness on a personal level, and knowing that when I go the gym next a trainer will be there with that graph and words of encouragement motivates me to swap the sugary drink for tea and bike the long way home.
Americans view weight loss as a sudden, transformative event often entirely disconnected from any process that involves learning about their bodies or food. You see this in plastic surgery procedures, Hollywood diets, fad diets, and before and after pictures. You hear, "she ate grapefruit and lost 20 lbs in 2 months!" more than you hear "she got a solid fitness plan from someone with medical training and found a way to monitor her progress." Moreover, weight loss is seen as an entirely individual endeavor-- "she went on Atkins" or "she started running." Groups like Weight Watchers that use humans' basic need for affirmation from a social group for
any change are often mocked or dismissed as the resort of the weak-willed, even when research shows they are the most effective.
How much, I wonder, would America benefit if we changed our outlook on weight loss? How much healthier would be be as a people if we viewed it not as a cosmetic miracle, but a process geared just toward feeling a little stronger and more energetic and physically capable every day? How much money and pain would we save ourselves at the doctor's office if we let go of all the shame we hold around our bodies and just join that walker's group or that dance class?
I used to have no idea why Japanese people are, by and large, so much healthier than their counterparts across the Pacific. I thought it was diet until I saw just how much rice and just how many fried things people here seem to eat. Recently, I've come to think that it's more about how people think of their bodies and more importantly, how much they're willing to learn about their bodies and what their particular body needs to feel its best. If that's the secret, maybe it's not so miraculous or even all that hard.
