Nothing like an hour of a.m. therapy

As I sat (or stood, rather) on the elliptical trainer this morning I was completely awed by the woman on the machine directly in front of me. She was wearing a one piece spandex work out suit- tank top style, knee length, with an open back. I couldn’t help but notice, as we were both slowly bobbing up and down with each step, that the suit was the right size for her build, fit properly through her shoulders, and yet was loose on her legs. I’ve never seen someone wear spandex in a size that fit and had it be loose on their tush and thighs. For me, I have the reverse issue. Tight as can be down under, and falling off up north. Argh.

I don’t make a habit of analyzing all the girls at the gym, partly because I don’t want anyone doing it to me, but some days it’s hard to avoid. Days when someone is blatantly flaunting their ridiculously abnormal gift of physical perfection, when someone is being obviously hunted by the guys on staff, or when I’m feeling particularly self critical or self-conscious come to mind. I didn’t think today really fit any of those and yet I found myself waxing neurotic about myself physically.

Why, you ask? Well, since I am the queen of over-analysis, I have a couple theories.
~ First, I happen to be the genetic byproduct of two very perfectionistic personalities. A good trait actually, in many ways, until it gets applied to things like body type that one cannot change no matter how desperately one tries. Actually, that’s a lie. I’ve heard of people who paid enormous sums of money to have their leg bones extended so they could be taller. Thankfully, I’m not that desperate.
~ Second, I’m single. Single girls are ALWAYS a little crazy. I see it with the girls on campus and my single friends (who are all much younger than me, as the peeps my age are pretty much happily married and going about their own lives joyously removed from all this drama).
~ Third, I grew up in the 80’s. How does that relate? Allow me to delineate: The 80’s were the years of Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, Jelly Shoes, MTV, Richard Simmons, neon ski apparel, and pretty much everything SPANDEX. I clearly remember the leggings and tunic trend and my first pair of shiny, satiny, leggings which must have looked horrendous but made me feel skinny, trendy, and oh so beautiful. Remember, I was like 8. 8!! That’s the only time I’ve ever been able to freely wear spandex without making others want to run and hide, and I’m perfectly ok with that. It did however, create an idea of what I *should* be that has never completely gone away. Am I blaming the media for this bug in my internal processing? Nope. I don’t think they are to blame. It’s all how I internalized it with my quest to be/have/seem/feel like I’m perfect in every way.

Which brings me in a crazy way to the point of this. I love the Gym. Love love love love love love love the gym. Sure, I feel self conscious when I go. Yeah, it’s sometimes hard to go use the free weights with all those handsome, buff, intimidating guys standing around. Sure, I hate the pressure of the trainers watching as I fumble around figuring out a new machine. BUT, I love how it makes me feel.

I love that my heart rate gets going and the endorphins are flowing. I love the upbeat music that energizes and motivates me. I love the way my muscles feel all puffy after I work them to exhaustion. I even love the phrase “hurts so good.” Mostly, I love that it completely changes my perspective on life.

I go in feeling out of place and out of shape, but I come out happy, energetic, healthier, and feeling able to conquer the world. It changes my eating habits subconsciously as my body craves healthier food, I drink more water, and I feel an increased confidence. Depression flees and optimism fills its place. Yes, I still show the signs of motherhood. I will never have a perfectly flat stomach, scrawny thighs, or incredibly defined calves. But self confidence and peace of mind are within my reach.

I pay more than I ever thought a gym membership would be worth to me. For the first time in 10 years of trying, I have figured out why it’s worth it. The rest of my life works better when I exercise. It’s the best few hours of my week.