Today was looking up as I walked out of my building headed to work. My arms still fatigued from yesterday’s workout, I was pleased that I’d pushed myself a little bit. I’d also decided to take a cab to work today. (I’ve recently limited my taxi use as I think there was a span of about two months where I’d take a cab to work every morning. It’s downright wasteful.) Anyhow, the mercury had already hit the mid-90’s at 8:15 a.m. and while D.C.’s subway system is both clean and pretty, lately it has become a morass of crowds, broken-down trains, swampy stations, and double-digit fare increases.
All things considered, if there was ever a day to take a taxi to work, today was it.
As I pull the door open to the taxi I’d flagged down and sat down, I heard a noise that makes even the most stoic person cringe.
R-R-R-R-R-I-I-I-I-I-I-IIIIIII-P!
Completely distracted as I plop down in the back seat, I immediately grab at my crotch to see just how bad this rip was completely ignoring the cab driver’s confused and nervous glances. (In retrospect, grabbing and feeling your crotch as an entrance maneuver in just about any polite social situation is never going to leave a good first impression.)
The rip was bad. Not only was I showing off my inner thighs, I was also advertising to the world that I was wearing black Ralph Lauren briefs. This was going to require new pants.
One very looooooong early morning meeting, one frantic cab ride (yes, my second within 3 hours), and one beeline through The Gap, I emerge with new pants.
New. Gigantic. I’ve-never-worn-this-waist-size. Pants.
And that’s when the shame spiral began:
- How could I let myself get to this point?
- Was I too fat for my old pants?
- My God, I’m hideous
- And on, and on…
This rapid-fire mental beat down took place in the span of time it took me to walk out of The Gap and flag down a taxi. (For those of you counting, my third within 3 hours. It was easily 100 degrees outside. I wasn’t walking back to work.)
The cloud of shame darkened over me as I reflected on my workout yesterday and how I got so flustered and intimidated by four guys working out at the same time nearby. All of them were incredibly built, lifting heavy weights. Two of them were working out together. All of them were very good looking.
These guys each were:
- Exactly how I want to look
- Comfortable in the gym
- Clearly dedicated to being healthy
- Someone I would really like to date
And after stealing glances at each of them, the weight of each of their weights, and their casual confidence, then turning back around and looking at me, I felt the wind suck out of my sails. I felt Fat Albert fat. I felt Quasimodo ugly. I felt like I’d utterly failed myself. And I felt very, very alone.
I felt exactly like I felt every time I started my first day at a new school (which was frequent being an Army brat): lonely, judged, freakish, small (and yet enormous at the same time), weak, an outcast.
These are feelings that I know well. I dissolve to these emotions quickly in intimidating social situations. But yesterday something happened as I stared at myself in the mirror feeling myself slide towards my typical hopelessness that would end my workout: I told myself to stop. Stop with the negative. I’m at the gym. I’m lifting weights. I have good form. I know what I’m doing.
Suddenly I was giving myself a (silent) pep talk. At the gym. In the weight room. It was really weird. And really unexpected. I reminded myself that these hot, muscle-y guys weren’t always hot (well, most likely not), and weren’t always muscle-y. These guys worked at this. And, dammit, I’m working at this. I’m at the beginning of my journey, but I’m working. I’m not in my comfort zone, but I’m here.
Then I cranked up Pink and finished up my workout.
And that totally unexpected pep talk yesterday ended up launching another less-intense pep talk today. I may currently be a bit of a chunky monkey. I may be wearing The Biggest Pants I’ve Ever Owned. But I have challenged myself to face this scary thing head on, to examine the things that could (and will) knock me off course, and to push ahead so that years from now when my physique matches that of those four guys, I can remember that I am the one who persevered, who struggled, who bought the Big Pants, who laughed with friends about the Rip that Rattled Me to the Core, and who ultimately beat the shame spiral, the negative emotions, and the intimidation of the gym.
That will be me. That is me!
And now it’s time for me to hit the gym.