“I am a strong woman who is unafraid of working hard in the gym. Once considered a man's domain, the gym is my world. Welcome to my world …. If you dare.”
Many women view the gym as an intimidating place. For those of us who have a total passion for iron, we view the gym in a totally different light. The gym overwhelms your senses. Sweaty athletes are all around. After showing my membership card I look around for familiar faces and take in the atmosphere. Are the muscle-head regulars here? Are there mainly novice gym guys merely playing with the weight machines and afraid to go heavy in the pit? Getting dressed is a slow ritual. Do I really feel like working out today? The women’s locker room is usually buzzing with trivial matters. Seldom do women discuss how much they leg pressed. I am methodical about the pre-gym ritual as if I am going to do battle. Once in awhile, I catch the site of another woman in pre-battle mode. Will she lift more than me? Are my biceps as big and strong as hers? As I step into the gym the sounds of weight plates clanging and lifters grunting are a familiar haunt. The smell of funk is harsh but strangely sweet. I feel that all eyes are on me, but no one really notices. I continue my ritual and insert my headphones deep into my ears. I turn it up loud in order to drown out all outside sounds. My music does two things. It surrounds me in its rhythms for an emersion of sound and outs me into a predatory trance. Secondly it discourages others from engaging in a lengthy conversation creating a kind of wall.
As I warm up, I size up the competition with a nod or brief wave. As for the occasional lifters and wannabees if they get in my way, I’ll make them pay. For a male to be outlifted by a woman is the ultimate humiliation. I usually reserve this beating for those who do not replace the weights when finished. Or when they hover over me and whine, “how many sets do you have left”. I do not remove my headphones, instead I glare and never answer. I usually draw acclaim from other women in the gym with this maneuver. They feel empowered just by watching me and they revel in my conquest. However, some women just shake their head in disgust. I can see their envy nearly choking them.
I take to the weight pit like a boxer. The bell has rung. It doesn’t take long to enter the “zone”. The endorphins kick in and I have joined the throng of grunters and weight clangers. It must be an enigmatic site for a man to see a rather small waist, generous breasted woman grunting and spitting in the weight pit. Often my male gym companions will come up to me during a set and say “smile girl” or “don’t be so mean” hahahaa. Id like to see them smile when they are bench pressing more than their body weight. I suppose that women are required to maintain that decorum during a 800-pound leg press. I am unaltered. You can enter my personal space, but take note that while I am lifting you may taste the spit spewing from my lips, or feel the hot breath while I bellow out that last rep. The occasional curious grin from my male gym mates fuels me all the more. More than occasionally, my efforts will provoke a signal of great approval from women in the form of a wide smile or a boisterous “you go girl”.
The weight pit is not only a sweaty muscle den, but it is also a place of mystics, religion and unyielding dogma. It’s a place of comic ritual and superstition. Common are the prayers to God for the strength to hurl huge weights. One swears you must wear all black on leg day. You must rap on the bench 3 times between each set of shoulder presses. Each movement is obsessive and precise as reproducing a critical lab experiment. Except the next experiment must yield even greater results to avoid failure. I try to make at least one significant gain in my routine. The absence of one gain usually causes great disappointment. It is a goal for the next time.
When the battle in the pit is done, I relish in the delicious exhaustion. I watch my pumped muscles in the mirror, critical of every curve. The sweat that rolls down my face, back and abdomen is like a warm kiss. Its almost a shame to shower away the smell of battle. It is as post-euphoric as after-sex and is the time for self-assessment. Was I good?
Linear Mode
