Kitty Fisher

Size-positivity, feminism, self-esteem crises, ginormous tits.

less is more

Posted by Kitty on October 22, 2008

Here is a story about another teammate, another story told in the bar the other night. She is what some might (erroneously) call “a slip of a thing”; my height, five seven, but she is nearly a hundred pounds lighter than I am. To her sorrow, roller derby made what small endowments she had in her bra shrink to nearly nothing. But in return, instead of toothpick legs, she now has hard smooth muscular thighs, thin but solid.
What she lacks in bulk, she makes up for in volume: loud, outspoken, and opinionated, this girl never shrinks from confrontation, never shies away from self-expression. When she joined us she was a terrible skater, barely able to keep her feet on the ground. She still falls frequently. But out of sheer cussed determination, she has become a fast skater; what she still lacks in agility, she makes up for in both perseverance and speed.
She occasionally expresses a wish for a fuller figure. She can shop in the children’s section for her clothes. And while it’s great to be able to buy a little girl’s sports bra for $10 instead of a woman’s for $30, she admits that sometimes she wishes she “just had some titties”. She also feels like she has to use grippier wheels than some of the heavy girls– on corners, she can’t keep her center of gravity low enough, and her wheels slide out from under her. (In roller derby there’s a ceaseless debate over grippier vs. faster wheels– you don’t want mushy wheels to slow you down and create resistance as you roll, but if you hit a corner too fast on hard wheels your feet will go out from beneath you. The perfect wheels find a place in the middle, between speed and grippiness, so you can go flat out, not feel like you’re dragging through mud, and not lose it on corners.)

Not long ago she had a terrible bout of something unspecified and intestinal, that left her unable to keep food down, and all she could drink was blue Gatorade. She shed what little weight she had to shed, and grew weak, listless, and unable to focus.

People kept telling her how hot she was. People would stop her on the street and tell her, awestruck, how beautiful she was. Now, back at 120, all lean muscle and spiky highlighted hair, people don’t stop her on the street anymore.

“People are sick,” she said last night, beer in hand, as she told her story. “Sick. I was nearly dead! What’s wrong with me now, huh? I wish I had some titties, but I think I’m pretty hot now. I do all right. I don’t pass out. But people don’t treat me like they did then, when I was a skeleton. Why would less of me be better? I’m already a fucking stick figure! I work what I got, yeah, but shit. People are sick.”

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