There's a mirror right in front of my treadmill at my gym. The first day I braved the little torture device, I was very uncomfortable looking up at my reflection as I walked. I didn't want to see myself huffing and puffing and jiggling all over the place.

As time has worn on, I find that far from being uncomfortable with that mirror, I can't stop looking at it. I walk very fast on the treadmill, and brave short, running intervals as I start to feel ready. My cheeks flush a very pretty shade of pink when my blood gets pumping. My skin sort of glows a bit when I sweat. My hair, too short still to form a neat pony tail, sort of flows freely around my face. I lift it up and hold it atop my head as I walk occasionally, singing quietly along to the music on my iPod.

Damn. I look pretty. What a revelation.

Since I have been on a regular exercise program for a week, now, I thought I'd share some thoughts I have had about the concept of body hatred.

I have been doing 20 minutes of cardio a day (I am down to a 20 minute mile. I know that doesn't sound very good, but believe me, for the girl who never could run, even at her most fit, this is a good thing.) and doing some exercise to strengthen my non existent core. My attitude about my body over the last week or so that I have been committed to losing weight has surprised me.

I thought that once I got going I would feel so self conscious about myself around all these fit people at the gym, that I would be motivated to work my big butt off all that much more. I thought that it would spur me deeper into self loathing, so that I would be motivated to change myself.

First of all, the only fit people I see at my gym are the trainers. And that's because my one if particular is in her 20s and hasn't had any babies yet!

Secondly, and this is strange, I am actually finding my body less repulsive than when I first started. I haven't lost an inch around my waist. I haven't lost a pound. But I find myself sort of admiring the curve of my hips when I see them in the mirror, instead of focusing on my stretch marks. I feel less like engaging in that negative self talk that led me down such a dark path over the past year. Instead, I look down at my legs and think "Oh, wow, look at that calf muscle! I am so lucky I can walk!" or "Hey, my bicep is actually performing pretty well with these weights!" When before, I would have thought only about my skinny ankles, or how flabby the underside of my upper arms are.

Now, I have a ways to go before I can look at my belly and think "Hey, what a great asset!",  but, I think I am actually seeing it for what it is now instead of seeing the warped version I am used to in my mind. I am not thin, yet, but I actually have a pretty well defined waist. I couldn't see that two weeks ago.

I am actually feeling more energetic, and very grateful for every part of me. I have a heart that pumps blood and lungs that take oxygen to my cells. My hands soothe my children's owies, my legs carry me where I need to go. All the hard work of moving my body has made me incredibly grateful for it.

You know, perhaps body hatred is a fairly new phenomenon because our ancestors didn't have modern conveniences that eliminate the hard work of day to day living. Who had time to hate your thighs, when you were busy scrubbing clothes at the river, or gathering that night's food, or milking your cows? All you knew, is that your body was carrying you around, helping you do the tasks throughout the day that keep you alive. What is not to love about arms to hold your babies? About the breasts that nurtured them through infancy?

Exercising my body has given me a taste of that hard work.  No, I haven't lost anything yet. But I sure have gained a whole lot.