My last few days at the Gym have been inspiring. I NEVER thought I would feel this way. And it feels GOOD.
So let’s sum up the last few weeks, before we get to Never Never Land. I took myself off of all of those crazy medications every doctor and their mother had put me on. I still take the Beta Blocker (the heart medication), my B2 vitamin, and a Women’s One Daily. No more Excedrin. No more pain medication. And guess what? No more headaches! The last headache that was serious enough to put in my headache diary was June 19th. That’s 17 days headache FREE. It took me a while to get back into the swing of things. I started running at home, although, not much. I had enough excuses. It was too hot out. I’ll do it after the sun goes down. Eh, I went swimming today – that should be enough. Then the other day, a light came on in my head. I am paying a gym membership. They have treadmills there. In the air conditioning. And they have weights. And DING! Off to the races I went. I actually wore shorts, which if you know me, is QUITE an accomplishment in itself. I cut some sleeves off of an old tee, and made a “lucky” workout tank (It has a shamrock, and the work HOOLIGAN on it).
Welcome to Never Never Land.
I walk into the gym, water, weight lifting log, and iPod in hand. The tanning bed happened to be open, so I went in there first. Then, It was time for a run. I started up my C25K app, turned on my favorite running playlist, and hit the pavement. Or moving belt. Whatever. I am on, I don’t know, my 3rd circuit or so, when she walks in. Workout Barbie has arrived. To me, it’s more entertaining to people watch, than to stare at the TV. No Mr. Trainer, I don’t want the damn remote. GO AWAY. So, any-hoo… she makes a lap around the perimeter of the gym, checking to see who’s there. She finally ends up on an Elliptical machine right in front of me. I swear, she could not have been on it 5 minutes when that portion of her workout was over. She dabs the non-existent sweat off her forehead, and heads to find a Swiss Ball. She starts doing crunches. Everything she is wearing, from her cute little head band down to her shoelaces matched. Her hair is perfect. There is not a smudge in her putty knife applied makeup. And I think of myself. I washed my face before I got here. When I sweat, I sweat. And my makeup runs. And my eyeliner ends up halfway down my cheeks, and I end up looking like Gothopotamus. My red hair is probably frizzy and standing straight up by now. I am wearing a cut off T-shirt I made at home 45 minutes ago. I do not look anything like this girl. And that old familiar pang starts to hit my stomach.
I wish I was skinnier. I wish I had a body like hers. I wish I could come here, and not do any work, and look like that. I always hated Barbies. When I was a kid, I used to color her face with markers, and cut all her hair off. My childhood hatred came rushing back, and I had a brief fantasy about cutting all of this chick’s hair off, and wondered if she would still come to the gym then. I am interrupted from my lovely daydream by a chime in my ear. Damnnit! C25K, week 1, workout 1, Completed. Moving on….
I grab my weightlifting log, gather all of my necessary weights, and head towards the squat rack. Workout Barbie has made way to a few other machines, but I haven’t seen her do anything but sit on them, and clean them. Can’t look at her. Gotta focus. Damn this shit is heavy! I am doing my squats first. I think briefly about giving up after 2 reps. My inner Goddess screams at me!! NOOOOOOOOOO! Only a few more. 3…2….1…. Are you shitting me? I just did an entire set of squats with perfect form, at 105 pounds!!! I am now doing a primal victory scream in my head, as I hold Barbie’s hair above my head like some Indian that just scalped the enemy. Good stuff. Next!!!
As I am taking my last 60 second break and chugging water like it’s my job, I see her again. She is kneeling on a bench, watching herself in the mirror. She is doing Tricep Kickbacks. Using her outfit/headband/shoestring matching 3 pound pink Barbie weights. She is a machine! I bet she does 100 reps. She sets her toys – I mean, weights – down, and exhales a long, hard breath. She again wipes the non-existent sweat off of her forehead. She fixes the stray hair she sees in the mirror. Then she does it. She puts both of her arms up, and flexes. She is admiring all of her hard work. Satisfied, she wipes down the bench she was just kneeling on, and leaves. As she walks by me, she gives me this look. The look was disdain. I could see her size me up, and I felt like I could read the thoughts in her head. It’s the way every skinny girl looks at the fat girl in high school. I was right back there at the Prom, crying in the bathroom while the other girls posed for pictures and danced with their dates. The memory is heavy. Oops. Nope. It’s the weight that’s heavy. I focus, and finish my last set.
It doesn’t hit me until I am in the car. I light my cigarette, and roll the windows down. I momentarily catch my reflection in my rearview mirror. UGH. The person looking back at me is DISGUSTING. Her hair is SOAKING wet. There are actually droplets of sweat, just hanging there, waiting for the weight to build up enough to fall. Her face is so red she looks like she spent about 3 days too long in the tanning bed. Her shirt is wet, and honestly, kind of smelly. A mile down the road, I glance back up, and see sweat still rolling down my face. I can feel it on my neck, and running down my back. In that second, I saw her. I saw the goddess that was yelling at me earlier. And she looked just like me. Not future me. Not skinnier me. Not a Workout Barbie version of me. It was just, ME. In the next second I flash back to my earlier thoughts of Barbie on the elliptical and being so envious of her. And I think momentarily – someday, she will be that envious of ME.
I get home, and go to take a freezing cold shower. I strip, and again, look at my reflection in the mirror. I hesitate, but finally decide to do it. I lift my arms up, and flex in the mirror just like Barbie did. My jaw drops in shock. My arms look better than hers! I go to a different angle, because I think my eyes are playing tricks on me. No! Seriously! And here comes the primal war cry of scalping Barbie.
This morning was a repeat of Tuesday. I’m working my ass off when Barbie (a different one, a brunette) comes strolling in. She also has cute little colored weights. They might be 5 pounds. MIGHT. She’s doing bicep curls. And lots of them. Then the exercise bike as she reads a magazine. I am deadlifting what I can fairly estimate is her body weight. I finish, and hit the locker room to shower and get ready for work. She is touching up her hair and makeup as I haphazardly get dressed. I worked out too long. I’m gonna be late. I hit the highway and about halfway down 75, she’s there looking back at me. My inner goddess is holding a brown ponytail in her hand.
Welcome to Never Never Land. Where I, the Fat Girl can look at Barbie and say – I might weigh twice as much as you do, but my arms look better than yours, and I can deadlift, well, YOU. For the very first time in my life, I felt prettier than Barbie.
Oh, and on another note, somehow, while drinking 5 beers yesterday at a cookout, I went over on protein, and was under on everything else! And I actually ATE all damn day long!
Holding my scalps high above my head!!!
The Fat Girl
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