“Damn girl, keep doing what
you’re doing! If you keep it up you’ll be married within a week. I know, you
got that look. But make sure you don’t burn, ain’t nobody want no red chick..!”
As I ran around the lake, I
passed by these motivating fellas, shouting me along my path. I laughed all the
way home (while I put on my sweater to block the sun’s burning rays), thinking
of how far away from the truth they were. But then I started reflecting on it.
Am I really working out just for me?
I love to think I work out
strictly for myself: “because it makes me feel good,” or due to its health
benefits. But how good do I really feel trying to get up from that tenth
pushup, and how healthy is blacking out at the end of a spin-class?
And then we have lunges. I
honestly believe the devil created lunges. Would I really suffer through these
hellish moves if I didn’t expect someone to look at my bare butt once in a
while?
I sure don’t think I’ll
attract a husband by running around the lake a couple of times a week. But I
don’t think it pulls down the odds either.
Memories of suddenly falling
in love with the stair-master every time I fell in love with a new man started
emerging. Reluctantly, I had to admit that maybe, just maybe, I work out for
others too.
Thankfully, I do yoga just
for me. However, I can’t deny I like answering “yes” to “so, you’re a yoga
teacher, are you like really bendy and shit?” A comment that probably counts
more as a warning sign than anything else.
Damn it! At least I still
have pole dancing. I’m sure that one is just for me..!
