to fluff or not to fluff? that is the question.

Plump to Pump

Blog #2 For No Quit Fit Outdoor Bootcamp

In fitness, is there a double standard related to being female?

I lifted the first dumbbell of my adult life in September of 2011. 8 pounders. Above my head. Many reps and many struggles to push that weight all around up and down and in and out. First day of bootcamp class. I hadn't known anyone in the class personally, though a few faces were familiar. Some of them were lifting 15 or 20 pounders and were zipping so quickly up and down in the burpee portion of the night., I was getting dizzy watching their speed and agility. They were laughing and joking while doing toe push ups and I was so sweaty and exhausted after 3 knee push ups, all I could muster in the comedy department was puking in my mouth a little after numero 4. 

There were softer-bodied women and harder-bodied women and everyone was lifting and jumping and sweating. I was a softer-bodied woman and I felt comfortable in my skin while I was there. Had that happened before? In my life? I wracked my brain. Um, no. But it was true, I felt zero judgements. Self esteem nirvana, I think so. When I pushed the weight up overhead and my shirt came up to reveal a roll peaking out to say yo, was I embarrassed? YES. But not because I thought any of the other boot campers cared to count the dimples pushing through the butt of my yoga pants. Rather, I was feeling my own embarrassment in my choices of inactivity for so long, my choices that had led to roly poly oly. But I was comfortable. Comfortable being vulnerable because I was moving! I was lifting weights! I felt welcomed. And I got the distinct feeling that these women and this trainer were about to give me a platform for change. Along with a shit-load of mountain climbers and walking lunges. 

I was hooked. Well, until three days later when I couldn't sit down on the toilet without grab bars. My quads were burning! The second week of class, my husband literally had to push me out the door to go. I was so sore I wanted to quit. I hadn't been sore in my life. I said my body was screaming at me to knock it off, but Alan knew better. He said my body was screaming at me to bring it on. He was right. After a month, I never looked back and hardly missed a class over one and half years before I had to take a break from lifting during the last leg of my marathon training in the spring of 2013. 

Now, the double standard, is there one in my world of fitness? I think it's in the mind of the beholder. And my mind doesn't see one. Men joined our class in my tenure. I had to hold in my farts just the same around the women as the men. There was a "no fluffing" rule at bootcamp. They were smart to institute that before I arrived. Being a man or a woman didn't matter in class. I was asked to work just as hard on building my muscles as the men. I loved the attitude from the trainer: whether it's your first day or your fiftieth or you are a man or a woman, you paid me to work your ass off, so that's what I'm going to do. 

If I was a person that put walls up, I might be able to think more and find the double standards that exist in my fitness world, but I tend to put in chinks in walls instead.