Elliptical Reflections

    With the new year comes new ambitions, new outlooks, rekindling of old goals.  Just like a bunch of other thirty-something year old couples careening towards forty we have joined a gym.  Our aspirations are no longer about how we look so much as they are dictated by our health.  Allen, bless his heart, still wears the exact size as he did when he was in high school.  The joke is on him though as his cholesterol and triglycerides have recently reached astronomical proportions.  And yes, I am constantly aware of the superfluous nature of my silhouette and the negative impact it has had and will have on my health.
    
   Which leads me to this thought: I will never be a willowy brunette.  I have learned to accept the terms and conditions of my physique.  This fact seems to scream even more loudly at me while I am at the gym surrounded by all shapes and sizes.  We are what we are.  But still, I desire to be healthier and must perform these necessary tasks. 

     Yesterday I forgot my earphones so I was forced to interact with my environment and observe my surroundings.  The following represent my observations:

     Robot Runner began her session on the treadmill at 5 miles an hour.  No warm up.  No easing into the run.  Just full on running.  She held her arms cocked at a perfect 90 degree angle and pulled in tight right against her body.  Her back was as straight as a line.  Her stride was short with a staccato tip-tap, tip-tap, tip-tap with no variance in cadence or speed.  Precise and accurate she represented the textbook definition of running.  I think to myself "I want to run like Robot Runner!"

Free Form was beside Robot Runner in an almost comical study in opposites.  Free Form was running just as fast as Robot Runner but it looked so different.  The stride was fluid and graceful.  Her arms hung loosely and swung in a soft arc.  She gave the impression that running is easy.  Her breathing wasn't labored and she seemed so relaxed.  I think to myself "I want to run like Free Form!"

     One of the nightmarish things about the gym is that there is a huge mirror running the length of the cardio area.  So I get to enjoy the ridiculous spectacle of observing myself.  If I were to choose my own moniker it would be "Awkward Woman".  I spotted an elliptical and found myself shuffling my feet trying to decide how to get on the thing.  Left foot first? Right foot first?  I decided to treat it like a horse and put my outside foot on the pedal and swing my inside foot around.  I push start and nothing happens.  However, I am not going to go through the foot shuffle debacle again by finding another working elliptical.  I start pedaling or push walking or ellipting or whatever my feet were doing and the machine magically turns on.  I go through the menu and select the appropriate categories and began merrily rolling those ellipses.  I see my unkempt hair bobbing up in an cumbersome, scratchy rhythm.  I perform my prescribed thirty minutes and hop off the machine to tackle the weight machines.

     This is where I observe the Muscle Man.  Yeah, the stereotype does exist in the context of this gym.  I think he has mistakenly used his Axe body spray as soap.  Wearing his sleeveless t-shirt that is only attached on the top of the shoulders and at the waist, he lingers at each machine placing the little stopper at the heaviest weight.  He grunts through five reps very quickly and loudly.  He continues to sit on the machine visibly ogling the women on the stair climber.  He doesn't wipe his machine off when he moves on to his next weight machine conquest.  And it bears his sweaty rear end mark.  Yep, he's that guy.  I think to myself "I do not want to use those machines after Muscle Man!"

     With all of this reflection I am forced to ask myself how often I have allowed my own perceptions of self to dictate my actions.  How often have I been presented with an opportunity, an idea, a nudging of the Holy Spirit that I shrugged off because of how perceived myself? Incapable, not smart enough, too fat, too frizzy headed, too scared, too nervous, too weird?  How often have I held back? The honest answer is too often.  And it's convicting.

  Going to the gym scares me to death.  I am an overweight woman with hideous gym clothes. But I know I have to do this.  Most of what I do on a daily basis scares me to death.  I am an overweight woman who looks frumpy in a uniform.  In both cases I'm learning to suck it up and keep moving.