Thursday, 16th of September 2010 at 01:30:37 AM 
Doesn't everyone promise that lifting this will make you happy?
This afternoon I went to the gym. I was feeling pretty good about myself, all sassy and cute, because I’ve lost another pound, for two pounds down. They may be squishy pounds, not hard pounds, but hey. Two pounds. (Squishy pounds are tucked inside that weight that fluctuates day to day, so the low I saw this morning I’ve seen before, but it’s sticking around longer. Hard pounds are when you drop to a new low number and can spend the day being very smug. One more pound will put me in the realm of hard pounds.)
I toddled off the the aerobics studio with my mat and ball and weights and workout plan, and gave myself the ol’ appreciative eye in the mirror. Clay is right, I informed my reflection, you do have a nice butt.
I was about halfway through my first circuit when another woman came in. Perhaps describing her as “another woman” is misleading, suggesting that this coltish young goddess and I are more closely related than reality would suggest. She was brimming with adorableness, simply sloshing it everywhere. Her hair was yanked up on her head in a manner that looked perfectly messy and unconcernedly cute. Her tiny little shorts revealed the kind of thighs that would have made Michaelangelo sigh, “See, David, THAT is what I’m looking for. A little muscle DEFINITION! Now hit the lunges!” She was somewhere in the fetal-to-22 demographic.
But if I let my workout be derailed by every adorable young thing that strolled through the gym, I would have to stay in bed, eating cheet-os and writing bitter letters to the editor. So I soldiered on, paying her no nevermind.
She plugged her earbuds in her ears, shook out her limbs, then faced herself in the mirror in a careful fourth position. And then…she danced.
I could totally do this too. If someone would just repeal gravity.
It was, I’m pretty sure, Irish folk dancing, a high-stepping foot-flurry. She leaped and spun and kicked and stamped. It was like discovering that the person standing next to you at the supermarket can sing opera. I half expected a camera crew to rush in to capture her rehersal. She was simply beautiful.
And I don’t want to admit that I started to feel insecure in her presence, but there she was, some sort of dance superhero. She would kick both feet way up in the air in a manner that would surely fell any attacker that had the poor judgement to hover three inches from her face. Meanwhile, I fell over trying to accomplish a modified dead lift. Twice. Okay, three times. Six. Whatever.
Eventually she was done, and she leaned against the wall, catching her breath. She looked for all the world like a Gatorade commercial, and I half expected to see her sweat droplets of acid green. I had also finished my workout, and was cooling down by lying on my mat, wheezing and cursing the masochist that ever came up with the side plank. She was glowy and damp, I was sweaty and tired.
As I lay there, working up the energy to stand up and leave, I realized that one of two things has got to happen. I have to stop comparing myself to other women. It’s simply not healthy.
Or maybe I need to take up Irish folk dancing.
Take some classes! Irish step dancing is easier to learn than you’d think. It’s not like ballet, where you spend ages at the barre and almost never seem to actually dance in the lower levels. With the step dancing classes I took, we were actually dancing in the first lesson and went on from there. Even when you’re just starting out and not very good, it’s pretty fun.
Maybe this is just my misanthropy showing, but why did she need to go to the gym to do that? Couldn’t she have kept her perfection at home, or at some dance studio somewhere? Humph.
Anyway, yes, the comparing is bad. It’s hard not to do, but it’s better to at least TRY not to. A constant battle for me.
You could try both! Dancing is a wonderful way to burn calories and have fun at the same time. It’s hard to not compare oneself to other women, we are a competitive lot, but one should realize even if they aren’t as physically perfect as the next lady it’s ok, because perfection isn’t the goal (unless you are a dancer/actress/model/athlete). Health and vitality and looking good in clothes is a much more reasonable goal. Great job on pound two!
Do Scottish sword dancing instead. There’s still the leaping and the pointing and stuff, but you have two lethal weapons at your feet in case of emergency, or of adorable infant dancers (not to USE, oh nonono, just to HAVE…)
Did you just invite me to work out with you? I swear that’s what it sounded like. And yes, I’d love to.
Squishy pounds and hard pounds–I like that. So when I get below 147 (it
could happen….) they’ll be hard pounds.
Sweet!
Option 3: Be inspired by her dancing, push yourself harder as you absorb some of her energy and joy, and then thank her, with a big smile, when she’s finished.
To do this, I would need a personality transplant, but it could happen for someone else…
If you’re going to compare yourself to other women, it especially can’t be done at the gym. Of course the “others” look all youthful and perfect…they spend all their time AT THE GYM keeping every last ounce off their tiny behinds.
I say take the Irish step dance classes… or any other dance class that interests you. Even if it’s a DVD. Dance is fun and I’m convinced women are made to dance. And there are so many styles to choose from… Latin, Belly dance, ballet, Irish step, hip hop, Appalachian clog… I <3 dance!
Aimee, not everyone teaches dance out of dance studio. We have a lady in our town that converted her garage into a dance space and she teaches from there. Unfortunately her students can't go there to practice and if they need a space with a mirror then the gym is the only other option. Renting practice space in a studio is expensive unless you are splitting the cost with other students. Maybe this was the most economical way for this girl to get a decent practice space. And I dare anyone say that serious dance practice isn't a workout. Isn't that what a gym is for?
I think you are beautiful AND hilarious. Can’t speak to the appearance of the butt as I’ve only seen a postage stamp sized photo of your head, but I’m sure Clay is RIGHT.
And you SHOULD stop comparing yourself to other women. . .as should we all. I have already been in near tears today because I feel as though I am robbing my (perfectly healthy, happy) daughter of something she doesn’t even know she needs.
What I want to know is. . .why did she come to the gym to dance? She could have stayed home and saved both the atmosphere from the exhaust created by her car AND saved YOU the misery of watching her. . .of course then you might not have had such an entertaining blog post.