Make-Up, Dumbells, and Headstands

If the world ends in 2012 like so many have predicted, then I've wasted a hell of a lot of time at the gym.  Imagine we've placed all this emphasis on health and appearance and then in a year and a half we all drop dead at the same time, regardless of our weight, pants size, or blood pressure.  But just in case we make it to 2013, I try to make it to the gym as much as possible.  My gym has lots of different classes, like Pilates, yoga, weight lifting, and zumba.  I try to mix them up to keep myself from getting bored, no easy feat.  Today I decided to try a new class, which I'll tell you about in a minute.

The first thing you need to know about my gym is that it's the kind of gym where people actually seem to put thought into the outfits they wear there.  And they do their hair.  And wear makeup!  If these girls think they look hot wearing makeup to the gym, they're right; they do look hot.  Like a hot, sweaty, ball of mess when they're done working out.  So needless to say, I sometimes feel a little out of place.  I think the last time I wore makeup was to my friend Donna's wedding.  And that was in October.  Okay, so maybe I'm the other extreme, but it just doesn't seem to make sense to me to put extra goop on your face when you know you're going to be sweating like an orangutan. 

The new class I decided to try today was called Cardio Junkie.  The "junkie" part was quite apropos, considering the instructor had to be on crack, speed, or some other controlled substance.  She blasted house music at triple speed and busted out dance moves faster than those Korean kids playing "Dance Dance Revolution," all the while screaming incomprehnsible directions, which everyone else seemed to understand.  Every time I thought I was catching on, she would change directions, or throw in a different, way more complicated move.  I mean, how is a newcomer like me supposed to know that "GO! GO! GO!" means lunge to the far left, and that "NOW!" means pick up your eight-pound weights?  To make myself feel even worse, in walked Head Stand Girl.

Head Stand Girl is one of those gym people who, no matter what personal goals you may have achieved that day, makes you feel like a big, stinking pile of crap.  If everyone else is lifting eight-pound weights, she'll be lifting twelves.  If everyone else is doing bicep curls at normal speed, she'll be doing them twice as fast with a lunge for each rep.  I call her Head Stand Girl because during yoga class one day I glanced over at her and she was actually doing a headstand.  Show off, I had thought.  I can't even touch my toes without bending my knees. 

Just in case there was any uncertainty to the crappy performance I was giving today, Head Stand Girl plopped herself right in front of me.  Another thing you should know about my gym is that it's the kind of gym where mirrors are everywhere.  So now I get to view myself right next to Head Stand Girl.  Turns out "Head Stand Girl" isn't the only thing I could call her.  I could also call her "Bicep Curl Girl,"  "Jumping Jack Girl," "Squat Girl" or "Rope Skipping Girl" because she was just so damn good at everything. 

After about halfway through the class, nearly falling flat on my face, twisting my ankle, and dodging dirty looks from Head Stand Girl (for taking up her personal space because I wasn't doing my backward/forward sprints fast enough), I came to a bit of a revelation.  No matter how fast you run, how high you jump, or how many squat thrusts you do, there's always going to be someone better than you.  You've got to do what's right for you, what makes your body, mind and soul feel proud. 

Feeling proud?  So what if it doesn't quite mesh with my whole self-deprecation thing.  We're all entitled once in a while, I suppose.  Hell, you never know how long it'll last.  At this very moment, Head Stand Girl could be writing her own blog about how she can't stand it when Too-Slow Girl cramps her style.