For the past few months I have been taking kickboxing classes at a local gym twice a week. This is completely a new adventure for me, totally out of my comfort zone. I have never taken any sort of exercise class of any kind, and what I knew about mixed martial arts and whatnot, you could fit into a very small container. So that was the point - something new and adventurous and a challenge. And I have loved it. I have purple and white boxing gloves and I’ve added a few pieces of … exercise wear? … to my wardrobe.
I was a little nervous (but not as much as I would’ve thought) when I showed up for the first class. Like many women/girls I know, I have a nearly crippling level of self-consciousness about my appearance and particularly my weight/body shape. The first class was a good mix of ladies from all across the age and fitness spectrum - several women who appeared to be in their mid- to late 20s, and three that were definitely older than I. The older among us (I am 39) are variously pudgy, chubby, pick your term. Most of the younger girls are much more fit. And there’s one young woman I have described to Matt as my kickboxing hero - she’s likely 30-something, and not skinny, but holy crap she can kick the *&%$ out of that bag. She said she’s been kickboxing off and on for a long time, and in addition to being strong she’s really fast. One day we were doing this “A/B” thing where when there aren’t enough bags to go around, we divide up two to a bag and take turns, one person doing whatever punching and kicking we’re supposed to do, while the other jogs in place a couple feet back. On this day, this particular woman was on the same bag as me and just for kicks (hee hee) I counted my own kicks and then hers, just to see. And she did exactly twice as many as I did, in the same amount of time. I mean, I think I did 30 and she did 60; maybe it was 25 and 50 but whatever, she was twice as fast.
So I’ve been much less self-conscious, keeping in mind the idea of, “everyone else is too worried about how they look to bother thinking about how you look.” This has been freeing and I’ve been able to concentrate on, you know, kickboxing. Form and strength and speed and whatnot. Even my usual ambition/perfection stuff has been quiet - though sometimes I wish I were further along than I am, I’m generally able to keep in mind, hey I’m just starting out and I’ll get there if I keep at it.
Until last week.
:)
Last week’s Thursday morning class (I’m still working part-time, M - W) was a little discouraging. There were 3 or 4 young ladies I had never seen at “my” gym before, and maybe they were new to this gym but they were obviously not strangers to either boxing or general fitness. If I were (totally) like this, I might be inclined to characterize them as “archenemies,” as they were mostly blond and slender and cute and young. And the whole point of this post is, I did experience a degree of envy and dislike that was surprising. And I know “dislike” is not even fair because I do not know them, at all, and I’m sure they are perfectly nice people, since most people are, really. And of course it’s not them, it’s me - my lack of confidence, my sudden return of self-consciousness, my issues. I totally 100% accept that it’s my issue. And while they may have had some genetic predisposition to thinness, obviously they do work at it.
And, I was kind of glad when none of them showed up for yesterday’s class. Another of my issues was that they all had good-quality, cute little fitness outfits. So after class I was inspired to go to a sporting goods store to shop for some new workout clothes. That was kind of a mistake, given my already-not-great mood and self-image. This was a huge, chain sporting goods place that supposedly meets all your needs, whatever your sport. The first item of clothing that I noticed, looked at closely, and then checked the price of? A pair of Nike women’s stretchy full-length pants that were $100.00. Not $99.99, but exactly $100. Jeez. So this awoke a whole different set of financial issues - we do okay, and know we’re fortunate to have what we have, but I could never justify spending that much on one pair of pants for myself. I suppose that raises the issue of whether anyone can justify spending $100 on one thing like that, but whatever; at this point I was really not feeling so great about many things. So I got a sports bra for $35 and got the hell out of there.
So … this has basically been relegated back to a more appropriate percentage of my brain by this point and I can say, This is really not that important in the Grand Scheme of Things. I can focus on the strength that I’ve gained from my short time in class, and go back to my general idea/perception that I am basically “perfectly cute,” though I will admit some days are much better than others. I explained to a guy I know awhile back, if I know 100 women I would say that at least 90 - 95 of them hate their bodies to some degree or another. This is mostly related to weight, and ranges from mild dissatisfaction to pathological eating disorders. And if there were four different skinny women who were new to the class, my statistic means that about 3.9 of them or whatever have issues of their own - maybe they binge and purge or take laxatives or just feel like crap every time they look in the mirror, even when I think they look great. Many women I know are constantly on some sort of diet or another. I know guys have appearance concerns and weight issues as well, but all I can really speak to is a woman’s perspective and I will say, it’s different for women. For a lot of girls/women I know, it’s every day, multiple times per day, that they feel they are not quite measuring up. I don’t really feel like going on about advertising and society and what we learn from our moms and our friends, etc., although I could :). Today I’m just focusing on the results, not the cause, and offering some thoughts on how often this comes up for a lot of women, which I’m not sure is something a lot of guys think about or are aware of.
(I’m so proud of the title of this post.
Fitness complex, get it?
… Boy, I’m glad I at least amuse myself).
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