Not So Scary
I went to Zumba this week – how I love to dance away a few calories – although I probably need to Zumba about fifteen hours a day for the next month to make an impact on Christmas cookies.
The class is conducted as a separate entity inside a very nice and busy workout gym. But I don’t really like the gym and all those weights and machines, and the noise. And especially – the muscly men.
There’s something about these big-armed, big-thighed, big-necked men that has always disconcerted me. My husband is big and strong, and I like it, but these guys are something different.
I’m not sure why. I think perhaps I feel judged. That I have an ordinary, slightly old body. (maybe I should change the title of this blog from Not Quite Old to Slightly Old. I’m certainly getting there.)
As I was leaving my class – which is mostly all women, except for one older guy who has no sense of rhythm but is very determined, and so therefore I love him), I had to walk through the scary-guy-filled gym. And my way down the aisle was blocked by two big blocks.
Two muscle-bound tattooed, shaved-head guys. Half my age and four times my size.
And as I tiptoed around them, I heard their conversation.
Big Muscles #1: “How was your Christmas?”
Big Muscles #2: “Okay, I guess.” He paused. “This was the first Christmas since my Mom died.”
BM #1: “Oh, I know how bad that feels. I been there, too”
BM #2: “We all got through the best we could.”
And there, in this noisy, busy gym, I got teary. Teary and ashamed.
Why in the world do any of us judge each other?
I worry about these tough guys judging me. But I had judged them.
I thought they were different.
But they are just like me.
As I miss my Dad this Christmas.
Life is scary.
People are not.