Gym outfits- I treat them more like that awkward school uniform that you hate so much because it’s so ugly, but you appreciate it at the same exact time because it makes your life that much easier. My gym prep is even better than my gym uniform- I wash my face and put on some deodorant.
No, I am not part of the Lululemon movement of sexy wardrobes and beautifully done hair and makeup. The reason is simple- I sweat a lot and I’m too poor to afford adorable gym wear. Let’s not ignore the fact that I barely have time to make myself look socially acceptable when I go to work so please don’t expect me to try for the gym. A psychologist would say this disdain for adorableness is rooted in some deep childhood trauma of being picked last for kickball. And dodgeball. And soccer. And every other sport I ever played… but I think it’s mostly because I’m lazy. I mean, why should I put myself together for one hour of sweating?
I bring this up because the other day I found myself being extraordinarily judgmental of a woman at the gym. Her hair was tied back in a flawless pony tail, her makeup was exquisite, and her belly shirt was on point. I stared at her for not enough time for her to think I’m a stalker, but enough time for her to maybe think I would ask her out on a date. I then found myself checking out my own mix and match of an old shirt with yellow stains around the neck, shorts with built in granny-panties*, and two socks that not only came above my sneaker, but do not even go together. And in that moment I was in awe of this woman and I hated her for her effort.
I found myself creating a hypothetical situation in which she was judging me in return and wondering how difficult it would be to match a pair of socks after I do laundry. In my day-dream I would then tell her that I lost the other sock a long time ago and none of my socks have a partner. And then I snapped out of it. I snapped out of it because maybe she wasn’t thinking anything at all because she does not go to the gym to judge others, she goes for herself. And in this simple few minutes of my day it made me think about who I am. I try so hard not to be that girl. You know. The girl that says what. the. _____. But there I was, being that girl. Shame on me. And in those few extremely weird moments I decided never to judge a gym outfit again. Because who cares what you look like- it’s the gym.
*yes, I know the word panties is gross, but when you add the granny in front the rules no longer apply