Yesterday I left the gym in tears. At the end of my workout I got a piece of unsolicited feedback on my form for the last exercise and I knew I was going to cry.
"Do not cry," I told myself, "not here in the Temple of Masculinity."
But it was too late.
The thing about getting back to regular workouts after months away from the gym is that I am also back to arguing with the voice in my head that says "you don't belong here." It had been quiet for a while before COVID, but it is quiet no longer. It's especially loud in the weight room.
I walk differently in the weight room: long stride, shoulders back, chin high, eyes slightly narrowed. And I just this minute connected the dots-- it's the same way I would walk down a street in Chicago if I wasn't quite sure I was safe there. It's my "don't mess with me" walk.
Fat lot of good it did me yesterday.
I've been posting cheerfully about lifting and all of those stories have been true. It's been fun to learn new things and make gains; it's been a good kind of hard. This story is also true: I am not a natural athlete. Sometimes I get so discouraged that I cry.
Tomorrow I'm going back. Let's hope it goes better.
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