Fitness Barbie and Friends

It isn't as though you don't do it too...stare at the 'buff-chicks' at the gym, I mean. C'mon...let's be realistic. I huff along beside all of you at the local gym, and I see your eyes follow those spandex-clad fitness guru's as they walk by from one eye popping performance to another. You're not even men! Sure, they watch from the corners of their eyes, many stare outright, and plenty grin and nudge their dumbbell-pumping buddy while watching 'workout barbie' go through her abductor routine. We expect that. What we don't always think about is our own reactions to these ultra-fit examples of brilliant genetics, immense effort, expensive surgery, or what amounts to part-time job-workouts at the self-same gym. Do they eat like birds? Live on protein drinks? Nibble lettuce and eat boiled chicken breasts? How do we even get muscles in those places? Do all of us have them there??

I'm more aware than many women, probably, as I have the body image of a tree-stump. I am at the gym five days a week, fighting the good fight, and trying to keep from talking myself out of giving up and going home. With the sweat rolling in streams from face, bangs unceremoniously plastered to my forehead, and face red with exertion, I watch 'workout Barbie' with more than a little envy. She is staring into the mirror, focusing on her gluteus maximus, which she is straining into a muscle fit for Michelangelo to carve, on a piece of gym equipment that looks like a medieval torture device. Her brand-name outfit co-ordinates with her expensive shoes. Her tan is just right and her skin glows with a light sheen of perspiration, her hair is shiny and pulled into a carelessly flawless ponytail.

Am I intimidated? Heck yeah! Further than that, I find myself mixed with several emotions...envy at the results of her hard work (and/or superior genetics), bitter discouragement at my own jiggling, out-of-breath form, and even some admiration for her ability to perfect herself. This is always followed closely by the brief surge that maybe if I walk a little faster...a little longer...increase the incline a little...maybe I could get something like that someday. Not. Still, it's both a carrot, and a sledgehammer with which I taunt/bludgeon myself.

I wonder what 'those' girls think. They must know they look amazing...surely their lives are perfect and they reign supreme in their vast circle of admirers in the jet-set life of the rich and deserving. That's what the television preaches anyway. It's hard to imagine their lives are difficult, that they suffer discouragements or that they might not like the way they look. (Ha! Try living in MY body!!) Okay, easy there, if I put in the effort they did, I'd look different too. Hence, the conflicting emotions when I glance (a few times too many), their way. Hate and envy vs. admiration and longing for that kind of discipline.

That's one side of the coin. What's the other? Well...maybe someone is looking at me and wishing they were as far along as I am. Granted, I am no supermodel, no swimsuit edition hopeful, no workout barbie. I am the mother of four children, (three of them being born in the last four years), heading to my 35th birthday as quickly as gravity is taking over my body. I won't get into the list of "can't stand", or "I wish..." about my body. When I am at the gym, if I look around, I can see that there are brave women there, struggling to undo whatever damage life's done in the last few years. Some of them are much bigger than me, but they march along determinedly and I want to yell "GO SISTER!". I hope they never look around and get so discouraged about the length of the journey ahead that they peter out and falter in their goals.

I wish that those women who look so good would be friendlier, encouraging, smile more. They are often in their own world, wrapped up in their own image, taut and flexing in the mirrors. I am trying to change my thoughts from "I hate you! I hate that you look so good! I hate that my husband would notice you!" to "You have worked hard to get there. I wonder if I could do a little better with what I have. I think you look great, and I wish you happiness." I wonder what it would be to wake up and go through a day looking like that, never worrying about making sure my t-shirt isn't too snug, or if it's long enough to cover this or that. The only way I'm going to find out, is by not giving in to that voice in my head that says I can't do it...I won't ever look like 'workout Barbie', and I should just go home with a gallon of ice cream instead.

I mustered up the courage to ask one of those focused-fitness-queen's a question at the gym last week. She didn't bite my head off, look down her nose at me, or glare. She hopped off the machine she was using, showed me a few exercises, and gave me some tips on how to improve the area I was working on. I felt intimidated, a little nauseous, and like an outsider. She was great, really. Focused, yes. Hard-working, yes. Not necessarily going out of her way to be friendly at first, but she responded politely, and even smiled when sharing her own personal hatred of one particular exercise.

"If I hate it, I know it works...because it hurts" she says with a grin. (I try not to notice that she also has perfect,even, white teeth!) She spends five minutes talking with me, and I thank her for her efforts, pretending to have confidence in her presence that I definitely do not feel. I was proud of myself for approaching her with my question instead of just glaring at her, green with envy as she worked out.

It's not just me though. I notice women glancing discreetly at the other women in the gym. We all do it. (Maybe the 'Barbie's' don't...but having never been one, I don't know!) What I do know...is that for every one of those gym goddesses...there are five regular women, struggling to improve their health, self-esteem, and appearances with good old-fashioned blood, sweat, tears, and deprivation. I can appreciate that.

For now, I go to the gym five days a week, sometimes excited to go, sometimes kicking and screaming, sometimes dragging myself through a workout. I do the very best I can with my diet...and sometimes I don't. It's all a journey though...and for every woman I wish I could be, there are those who'd look at me and wish they were at least in my shoes already. To the gym-goddesses and fitness barbies...I say "great job!" (just stay out of the gym when my husband goes!!)