the comfort of strangers

Over lunch today, I headed to the gym. My gym, which happens to be (conveniently) right across the street from my office, recently bought these snazzy elliptical machines that are designed so that there is no pedaling backwards...it's all one motion. I can't imagine trying to work out on one of those if I was 5'2 or something. The degree to to which you have to adjust your stride is pretty extreme. Regardless, I try to hop on the new machines if one is available because the workout is more intense than your usual gym elliptical. I choose "weight loss" or "cross training", punch in the weight and age and I'm off.

I got my heart rate up to 158 today. That's workin' it for me. I huffed through 35 intense cardio minutes and then went to do my crunches. (I had a limited amount of time so I had to skip the weights.) I've been getting back into crunches on the balance ball, and they kick my abs. Then it was time to stretch. As I neared the end of my workout, stretching my hip muscle on a low wall in front of the treadmills, a woman on the treadmill in front of me said suddenly:

"I worked out next to you last week, right?"

I eyed her a bit suspiciously. For one thing, I pay little attention to people around me when I'm in the gym. In fact, it's one of the only times in my waking life when my inner critic shuts off and I'm not looking at people's feet going "man, those shoes are impractical on a day like today." I admit it--I'm ruthless with fashion, esp. shoes. It's not that I'm Ms. Hip or anything, I just can't abide fashion impracticality.

Anyway, I go to the gym to work out. I don't usually remember who was next to me during those times when the areas underneath my lovely yet pendulous breasts have turned into drainage ditches of sweat.

"I don't know," I finally respond.
"Yeah, it was you," she says. "You were kicking ass. I thought it was so cool. I mean, I have such issues around going to the gym..."
It finally registers that she is talking to me because she admires me. She actually thinks I kick ass. And judging by her size--she was actually smaller than I, but shorter--I could tell that the subtext of this conversation was something like "I can't stand these skinny asses in their short shorts and sports bras who look at people like me and feel pity." Okay, so maybe not in so many words, but I'm sure I'm not that far off.
"Well," I say, "I come here, do my thing, and get out. If I paid attention to what everyone else was doing, I'd never come."
"Yeah I hear ya," she says. "But you kick ass."
I emerge from my mind long enough to finally say "Thanks." Then I add "you keep working at it."
"You too," and she plugs herself in.

Walking back to my office, I think of one of my favorite quotes: "The last thing we know is our effect." (Carolyn Kizer) I think of how often that phrase needles itself into my conscious life and sticks there, a reminder of how every positive action and encounter can make a difference. We never know how we effect one another--we can only walk through our days with the hope that we might effect the world positively, might bring a little sun to what might have been an otherwise dreary day. Maybe we do it by helping an elderly woman cross the street or maybe it's by saving a co-worker from the chopping block by tying up the loose ends of his project while he takes his sick dog to the vet or, in today's instance, we (I) do it just by weighing over 200lbs and getting back on the elliptical again and again, with determination and a smattering of self-love, and unknowingly setting a kick ass example for some shy overweight young woman who then says, "hey, if she can do it, I can do it too."

All I can say now is that I am humbled in the face of this. And I hope I see her again someday.