Here’s the backstory–in 2019 before the pandemic shut down everything I belonged to a 24-Hour Fitness. I only went two to three times a week, but at least I was doing that. This is a recounting of one workout…
It was Monday. I did 25 minutes of cardio (recumbent bike and elliptical, both easier on my feet and knees) and then hit the weight room to work on my arms. It was busier than usual, mostly with young men—a category of people I am invisible around.
I plunged into my basic routine starting with my triceps to thwart “flappy arms.” As I was nearing the end of my exercises a pretty 20-something woman walked in. She wore high-waisted black leggings that highlighted her perfect peach-shaped butt and a sports bra that cupped her pert breasts. (No shirt.) I hated her on sight. Not really. But I did deflate just a little more.
Later that night my husband asked how it went at the gym and I shared my (petty) annoyance about seeing this young “perfect body” woman. And he asked with sincerity, “But didn’t you find her inspiring?”
Inspiring??!! Good grief no. When I was her age, I had that figure too. For all I know she may do a vigorous workout, but she’s also young with a puppy’s energy and metabolism. She hasn’t had decades of gravity, wonky hormones, bad habits, and life-rearranging events like childbirth making their mark. At her age it’s all sooooo much easier. No she doesn’t inspire me. It’s all stacked in her favor.
Now what would be inspiring? Really inspiring? Someone my age who can pull off leggings and a sports bra…in public. For that I would applaud. Strew roses at her feet.
Sister I know you’re out there. Come inspire me.





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