Every morning I walk the dogs, check email, then do a 40 minute cardio exercise video. These 30 something cuties in bra tops and black leggings have no idea somebody as decrepit and unkempt as me is following along nicely. But not to meet guys at the gym, as one video says, but to keep the ole pump working. It's nostagic for me, too. There was a time when I, too, bought tiny outfits and cross trainers and brought my towel to the gym. I stared at myself in the mirror and noticed I was shorter than everyone else and my hair never stayed in a ponytail, or band or any container. I COMPARED myself. I felt, too, that it was my moral obligation to be sexy for my husband, and it didn't hurt one little bit if a few other guys also sat up and noticed.
That was one alternate universe. Now I could care less what men think of me, including my husband, although in his case it is because we have this level of trust that's pretty deep, and also he doesn't look like he used to either, so we're the mutual toleration society. I no longer bother with mirrors at all, and I do not change my clothes when I exercise. Too much trouble. If I have to, I slip out of my boots into these Clarks that seem pretty comfy. I don't do tennis shoes any more. Too much trouble to lace them up. Due to my advanced age, I am no longer doing any high impact moves, and try never to lift both feet off the ground at the same time. Also, I can't get my head lower than my heart, because of my eye disease, and I squat very gently, out of respect for my knees. My body may be neither a temple or a shrine, but it is an archeological site that needs preserving.
I feel proud of the fact that I even am able do these videos, and that they are fun, as they have music and it's a kind of dancing. I can kick back and no one in the whole wide world sees me, and the reflection in the mirror this time is these adorable exercise mavens, and I get to be them for a little bit each morning. Time travel. But with no self judgment this time, no punishing impulse, no resentment that I "have" to do this to compete. I am so done with all that. And what a relief it is. I'm at the age when I look back on my old photos and think: "I was pretty darned cute". I regret not enjoying the cuteness while it was there, but such is our culture. I tried so hard with both daughters to make them feel good about their bodies, but then, at puberty, the peers and the culture take over and complimenting them is mortifying - because you don't understand. They are too tall, too short, the breasts too big or too small, the legs not long enough (nobody but Barbie and giraffes have legs long enough for this culture) and everything is wrong, wrong, wrong! I was in my forties before I realized that my best friend in childhood was substantially less cute than me. I never noticed her fat ankles and crooked nose, I was too busy wishing I had her substantial breasts and huge lips. Guess where those breasts have migrated to now. We're programed not to be happy with how we look, and nobody escapes it. At least not until you're in your sixties and invisible, and all of a sudden, people listen to you more than look at you, and they judge you by your actions not your photogenic rating. It's freeing. And for the first time in my life, I'm really enjoying exercising for how it makes me feel. What a concept!
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