Exercising

I made a new friend at the gym.

“The machines upstairs, they help with that.”

I looked at his finger and realized it was pointing to my stomach. Specifically, the portion of it that domes out. Perhaps because it was 6:30 am, I wasn’t fully awake, and my emotional regulation skills were better than I thought, I simply looked at him and said in a calm teacher-like voice,

“You do not point at my stomach. That is not nice, I’m working on it.”

He apologized so much it annoyed me more than the original offense. Then, he made it a point to find me on the treadmill thirty minutes later to tell me he hoped I’d speak to him again. I sighed and said,

“Don’t lose sleep over it, just don’t do it again.”

I often find myself in these situations where people say crazy comments to me or feel so comfortable that in a matter of minutes I’ve learned their life story. Prior to this man telling me I have a beer belly gut, he proceeded to tell me about his life. If I had to guess, he’s in his 60s or 70s and has been working out for a long time. He gave me more details I will spare you from and informed me that I’m being watched at the gym. Apparently some people come up to him and ask about me. I’m not sure when he became my keeper, but he said I’m the only black woman who is nice enough to say hello to the other men in the gym. I refrained from pointing out that insinuating the other black women are mean was also not nice.

I don’t enjoy working out. It’s been many years now and the high people say you get from exercising has never hit me. My health and results are what keep me going back to the gym. I work out five days a week (I took off yesterday because a weekend of celebration wrecked my body). I go to the gym to strength train three times a week and do pilates the other two days. As y’all already know I walk everywhere, so although I don’t think so, I’m a pretty active person. My body has begun to respond to this and despite my body dysmorphia, the numbers don’t lie. My pants’ sizes are getting smaller by the day. On Sunday my Knicks tube top finally arrived, mere hours after we won the finals. Knicks in Five!!!!!

Anyway, when I took it out, I thought to myself,

“What a small item of clothing.”

Nonetheless I tried it on and it fit perfectly. I smiled in pleasant surprise. This is why my gym “friend’s” comment about my stomach felt so uncalled for. My stomach is quite small these days, my consistency for almost two years is apparent, and I’ve spent money the past month trying to keep up with my evolving body.

Despite writing publicly and having what some might say a large personality, what keeps me humble is my persistent belief that most people don’t notice me. I’d like to say this is a helpful trait, as you don’t want your head to get too big. Therefore, I walk into the gym every morning and think no one notices me. My pilates instructors no longer ask for my name when I walk in, but I tell myself no one would notice if I missed a week. After my last piece, Reunion, quite a few people messaged me to tell me how much they related to it, but also to share things they are proud of me for and how often they speak of me. A friend said everyone thinks I’m cool. If you’ve been reading for a while, you will know I think about this a lot. The gap between my self perception and reality.

I don’t really vibe with the idea that I’m insecure, but the Merriam Webster dictionary says that people who doubt their own abilities are insecure. If I’m radically honest with myself, this whole “humility” thing I have going on, is just a socially acceptable way of being insecure. Because the truth is, people do notice me. It’s a running joke in my friend group that if there is a group of us, a stranger will choose me to talk to. Even if I’m not the nicest one in the group. So when the old man at the gym began speaking to me, I didn’t flinch. In the following weeks, I’ve begun to get better about gently cutting him off so that I can complete my workout. A couple weeks ago, he told me he can see my body strength coming in. I’m trying to tell myself it’s okay to be noticed and that maybe I use my humility to shy away from what my absence means to people. Especially the people who mean a lot to me.

I’d like to think that a week of silence wouldn’t alert people. That people don’t really miss me, but the evidence, much like my smaller clothes, is hard to argue. I keep getting the same lesson over and over again, which is that people value authenticity. They value you saying the true thing, the hard thing, or the very unpolished thing. I’m great at that on the page, but still in person I struggle to just be. So I tell myself others don’t notice me, that way I can practice presence without an audience. But that’s not life right?

I’m still working through all these thoughts, and trying not to analyze everything. Instead, I focus on the facts. These days they are:

I like my body.

Despite disliking exercising, I like the routine of it all.

People can see me and like what they see despite my actions.

Sometimes my brain is exhausting and I’d like to figure out how to be more present.

Last Wednesday I arrived at the gym at 7:15 am. My friend came downstairs decked in all Knicks gear, and I chuckled to myself as I conveniently wore orange leggings and a royal blue workout top. He looked at me as I picked up a weight and said,

“You’re late!”

I nodded as he walked over to me.

“I woke up late.” I answered sheepishly.

He proceeded to tell me how he used to play ball back in the day with all the greats. I didn’t question his claims. I nodded along as he spoke and thought maybe I shouldn’t change gyms anytime soon.