Working out

There is nothing in this world that can bring my insecurity to the surface like going to the gym. Not public speaking (which would be second), not parenting, not church, nothing. Well, actually, going to an art class probably would. Or dating, which thankfully, I don't have to do. But I digress.

I am not an athletic person. I'm not a person who likes to sweat. Or move much, actually. I'm too addicted to productivity to be a couch potato but I am definitely sedentary. I was that kid that walked around running into walls because I had my nose in a book (and because, frankly, I just wasn't very coordinated.)

There was a brief time when I was a little girl when I could earn extra allowance from my parents just for playing outside. I liked playing outside, though. I liked playing "Little House on the Prairie" because it was a book. Our gym set was the house, with the girls' loft on top of the monkey bars. Our bikes were horses and we pretended we had a covered wagon. As I recall, it wasn't a terribly active game, consisting mainly of standing around acting out scenes from the book. I think my friends must have been as dorky as I was.

So going to the gym is as far out of my comfort zone as I can go. I don't like the clothes you wear to the gym--t-shirt and athletic pants--because in the rest of my life, clothes like that are called "pajamas." I don't like the feeling of confusion I get looking at all the equipment or the looks of confusion I get from other people when I'm doing it wrong. Don't even think for a minute that I'm going to tell that story. I don't like the huge mirrors they put all over everything. If I liked what I saw in the mirror, I wouldn't be going to the stupid gym, okay?

Today, I did the 30-minute circuit, partly because the only other person doing it was middle-aged and overweight like me. Then "Brunette Barbie" joined us--20 years younger, with her long ponytail, size 4 on a "fat day," doing her kickboxing and her deep lunges and that move where you jump up on the step with both feet, then jump back down and repeat for one minute. Without falling. Or dying. The other woman looked at me with a sad little look of defeat. I tried to smile encouragingly.

I think it's great that Brunette Barbie looks so great and is so strong and so healthy. I not only envy her, I admire her. I just wish she'd take her fabulous self over to the part of the gym where the fabulous people go and leave us in peace. But seriously, I didn't give up. And I didn't change the amount of weight I was using on the machines after I finished, to make her think I was using more weight than I was. I was pretty proud of myself. Maybe I'll go back someday.