Have you ever stolen your dad’s hammer? I have. For very private reasons.
Every night, I spent 20 to 30 minutes hammering my calves. I would measure them first, then hammer away. Gentle force in the beginning . Thug, thug. Thug – my calves against a towel. It still hurt — so I would tense my calves for half an hour while they were tending to the bruises I had given them the night before.
I started giving myself bruises from being too impatient. How were my legs still the same size after weeks of this? And why did my upper arm start growing? Was it because I used my right arm to do most of the hammering?
I went to school to confront the girl who had sworn by her life that this method worked.
“This should solve your manly-leg issue! You need to hammer your legs more often so people won’t think you’re stronger than the male first division footie athletes! Look at my legs! I only need to hammer them for 15 minutes and they’re shaped like Seohyun from Girls Generation!”
This blew my mind at 14. And so I started Googling ways to shrink my legs.
Apparently, clinics could inject Botox directly into the muscle to kill it off. I was so excited. A couple of injections could melt my insecurities just like that. I tested the waters with my mother, secretly hoping she would tell me high school kids worry about nothing.
“It’s okay Crystal, we have options! We can save up and do a liposuction trip to Korea when you turn 18! You can also get a nose job before university. This is perfect!”
Then I looked in the mirror.
Suddenly it was not just my legs that made me want to disappear into a hole shaped like a grave. My face was not enough. I was too fat, so liposuction was needed. I was raised to understand that every part of my body was meant to be enhanced with a hammer, a needle, a knife, or other power tools. They use a mini chainsaw for jawline enhancements, right?
I touched my legs like it was the last time I would touch them. And I swung the hammer.
No. I didn’t crush my own legs.
I crushed my soul.
The fat on my legs would not go away unless a doctor used a vacuum to extract the fatty tissue. My entire body leaned toward the meaty type. My face was acceptable, if only I fixed my nose. My underarms were too dark. My arms were too big after two months of hammer swinging. My waist was too big, even when it measured 22 inches.
The list was listless.
And worst of all, I lost my father’s hammer.
I suspect a school friend took it when she came over — so she could start her own leg-slimming journey. I hope she found what she was looking for. I hope she put the hammer down sooner than I did.