I've had strangers mock me for being a fat woman who runs

Last week – on my longest run to date – two women laughed at me. They were my age.

Up until that point, I was so proud of myself. I’d comfortably managed 8km – and with the help of some good trainers and a carefully curated playlist of heavy techno beats, I was actually starting to enjoy running for the first time. 

I felt hopeful. My mind was clear, but then it started to cloud with self-doubt.

It may have been my fluorescent pink top – matched with my equally as fluorescent pink base layer – that looked ridiculous, but I know the sniggers of bullies all too well. 

I know the side glances, double-takes, and whispers.

It made me feel pretty s**t, to be honest – until one tripped over, that is. I inwardly thanked karma for being on my side this time.

See, I’m fat, and I’m training for my first ever half marathon, the Great North Run – hosted in Newcastle this September. 

I’ve had people shout at me to ‘keep running, fatty!’ from their cars

I’m excited, and pretty nervous, too – but plenty of members of the public seem to have a problem with seeing a fat girl running. So much so that it’s had me thinking a few times too many if I should be running at all.

To exist as a woman who is a size 16 to 18 (albeit the former is the average size for a woman in the UK) is pretty exhausting – regardless of whether I’m exercising, or not. 

It’s been this way since I was young. With boys in primary school proudly calling me ‘Emmie the elephant,’ making trumpet noises behind me as I walked – I couldn’t have been much older than seven or eight.

Now, whenever I’m at the gym, I feel like I have to prove myself. Prove that I’m worthy of being there by overexerting myself, lifting heavier weights, or exercising to the point of exhaustion.

I catch people – men and women, of all ages – staring at my thighs, pocked with cellulite. My stomach. My arms, my bum. So much so that I’ve started wearing oversized tops to exercise in, ones that I can pull down and hide my body with.

As a result, I can’t say that I’m 100% body confident. Though I will always rally for plus-sized people to take up space and exist in this fatphobic world, I can’t deny that it sometimes hurts. A lot.

It feels like I can’t win, though I’m at my fittest, strongest and healthiest to date.

Instead of feeling proud of myself or my body, sometimes I feel disgusted. As if I should be exercising ferociously to burn calories and lose the fat, rather than simply because I want to. Because I like it.

After those women laughed at me, my running felt disjointed and I kept stalling for a while – mentally and physically. I started to feel every step, every wobble and jiggle of my thighs, my boobs, my bum. 

What’s more is, one of them was my size, too. The very person I was fighting to represent was fighting against me.

I felt like the entire world was watching me, waiting for me to stumble and fall. To fail and to prove that society was right: that fat people are useless. Worthless.

I felt rejected, alienated. An outsider – even amongst my own. I felt like giving up.

They haven’t been the only ones, either. I’ve had people shout at me to ‘keep running, fatty!’ from their cars. Children have pointed and laughed at me. People have scoffed and raised their eyebrows as I pound the pavements past them.

Women with pushchairs have tilted their heads and smiled sympathetically at me – said ‘well done’, or told me to ‘keep going’. I know it’s probably meant in kindness, but it feels like I’m being singled out for not fitting into the stereotype of what a female runner should look like.

I don’t need words of encouragement, I need you to stop prescribing to these fatphobic ideals that seek to other and demonise anyone that doesn’t fit into society’s so-called norms.

In fact, the only people I really seem to get support from are other runners. Their head nods and genuine smiles keep me going. They don’t make me feel patronised, or feel any sympathy towards me, but make me feel welcomed into their sport, their home.

I will run this half-marathon, but I’m not doing it to prove anything to anyone who is surprised to see a fat lass run. 

I’m not doing it for personal bests, or out of spite – but because I want to. Just like I want to lift weights, boss high-intensity spin classes, dance for hours, and swim for miles. At my pace, and in my own time.

I don’t exercise to punish myself for being fat, I do it because I enjoy it. Is that not enough?

I deserve to take up space, and will prove to myself that I am worthy – not worthless.

I’m fat, and I’m a runner. Fluorescent pink top, pock-marked thighs and all.

Emmie is running the Great North Run to raise funds for Mind, the mental health charity. You can donate to her JustGiving fundraiser here.

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