I'm back here at this space, over a year later, because I went swim suit shopping.

And as much as it pains me, this seems to have brought to my awareness a current of dissatisfaction with my body that I have fought the good feminist battle to whip.

I think my body is gorgeous. I'm shapely in the classic way. I feel a great deal of acceptance towards myself. When I look at my body I see a fleshy unruliness, a substantiality, a presence.

I also see the shadow of an athlete and the physical manifestation of bad eating habits. The very fleshiness that I fiercely adore -- seen from a slightly different perspective, either due to lighting or a mental shift -- is a daily reminder of how I injure my body in incremental ways.

What I've always disliked about dieting, and about body image issues in general, is the emphasis on control, on coercision, on a discipline enforced by shame. Being so anal in other areas of my life, I'm not eager to introduce more tasks that make me gaze at my navel longer than I'd like.

But I care about the health and potentiality of my body. So here it is: I want to lose some weight (between 10 and 30 pounds) and I want to be stronger.

I have entered a sprint triathalon for June. I am making the committment to chart my trajectory toward that event. I am making a committment to care for myself, in the most exuberant, accepting way I can envision -- by cultivating a physical self that functions with energy and skill.