I am a 43 year old woman. I have run ultramarathons, and overcame being a fat teenager who dealt with unnamed eating disorders her whole life. I am happily married, with a great job. I own a nice home with my husband of 20 years who I cherish, have a child in college and another one who just got her drivers license. Life is good. I have come a long way I have accomplished  much, yet….I still have a crippling allergy to that dreaded aerobics class at the gym.

Many moons ago, in my fat days, options for exercise where unknown to me. My gym days began with forced visits with my mom back in the 80’s. She was thin, lean, long and a Jane Fonda look a like. I was a chubby and uncoordinated with zero self confidence. “You’ll love these classes Krissy, they are so fun and the weight will just fall off!”….

I, baggy sweats, baggier t-shirt, and as ungraceful as they came, bobbed with incomplete harmony in the back as I watched her and her high-thigh-rise-leotarded-headbanded poofy-haired friends, literally, dance circles around me. I was not part of this tribe, nor did I want to be. I felt fat, ugly, awkward and intimated. “Work outs” usually resulted in me coming back home, and sneaking out to eat fast food with my friends, making (envious-based) fun at the whole fiasco.

My mom finally stopped forcing me to go, it was a losing battle, on so many levels. I continued to struggle with weight, confidence and any affection for sports over the next 3 years.

Flash forward, 18. Graduated. Time to move out. Which, I must say,  changed my universe. I moved away from my past, I enrolled in college, and I on my own, took a fresh approach to my weight and health. I ate right, I started jogging. Feeling good, was my priority. I took charge, it was the beginning of a new me.

I even tried to enroll in a gym, yet thanks to my mom, I had PTSD from and couldn’t continue.

She meant well, but those classes were everything I hated. And years later, continue to hate. The popular girls were upfront, they new each others names, and seemed to have a million inside skinny jokes. Hushed giggles from small clusters sparked here and there until the uber-fit instructor, the deity among these goddesses, took her podium.  She knew all the “cool kids” names, and this ‘sorority of popular’ dominated the class,  as I, among a few other self-loathers, sat, body-shamed, back of the class, quietly observing how very much we didn’t fit in here.

I know, I sound angry. I guess I am/was. And I apologize, and I don’t mean to stereotype all gym classes and teachers, but this was my own experience, my own trauma. And hey, it’s my story, so please don’t take it personally.

So for years, I stayed away from the gym. And props to me, I became a runner! I ran marathons! Lots of them! That fat girl was now lean, in control, healthy -and accomplishing things she never thought she could do.

I live in a lovely community -a suburb in Orange County, where body image is king, and the gym is quite possibly, more central a location than the church. Everyone is pretty here, but in all honesty, they are pretty nice too, and I have made some really good friends with some lovely women who happen to be….. Gym Class Teachers.

Spin, Turbo Kick Box, Piyo – we got a little of everything out here, and I pretty much know someone who teaches each of them.

My running goals are behind me, so, with new goals to make, I try to make peace with my fear and with my anxiety pushed deep down, take the damn classes.

Blinded, surrounded by my friends, I dive in.

And….I like them! They are fun! I knew the teacher, she knew my name! I knew lots of women in the class, and I learned the routines easily. I was coordinated! I danced, I moved, I kicked and I burpeed. I was really doing this! I fit in! I was one of them!

Yet….yet.

I really wasn’t.

When I really stopped to tap in to what is going on in my head, I would have to admit to myself, I feel a bit like an imposter.

I was faking it, until I was making it.

I knew the routines, but  when I caught site  of myself in the mirrors mid-routine, it just reinforced what a goof ball I knew I really looked like.

My left hooks that I thought I looked so bad-ass doing, are ridiculous. My 7step is more like a 5 step, and my jump kicks leak a little pee, every single time I do them.

And did those women really like me? Or was I forcing myself in to their conversation and maybe they really were thinking I was a pain in the ass?

So I go less and less. When I do go, I sink a little lower in the back. I’ll say hello to the friends I see, but them quietly tuck away in my own little world, get my work out done and split.

I find myself leaning towards outdoor exercise, and staying away as much as possible, from “that gym”.

Yet honestly, sometimes its just so much easier (weather, timing, etc.) to go do a class, and maybe, about once every six months, I go back.

Last one, was this past weekend. My friend Terri, was teaching it. She welcomed me in, but didn’t pay much attention to me. Another friend who I knew well, was upfront, and I got a quick hello, but she too, barely paid attention to me.

I pulled even tighter to the back right corner, and keeping my head down, bobbed and weaved my way through a Turbo Kick Box class I was just praying, would end soon.

I “hmphd” to myself in disgust as sure as shit, here I am again, in the back. These “cliquey women” excluding me, making everyone but them, feel worthless. I  watched the women chatter, smile, and yell out loud when they felt particularly good. And I sunk deeper into my awkward space and felt the intimidation, and anger building up in me.

It was only when, about ten minutes left to go, during a quick water break, a woman, who I had already judged to be a bitch because she was way too close to my kick-space, came over and with a huge smile, and commented on my leggings. Everyone in this community wears LuLu Lemon, and I happened that day, to be wearing the one and only pair I had.

She said “OMG, you look SO GOOD in those horizontal stripes! I love those on you!….” I mumbled something back, surprised she was talking to the very dorky me, and she continued. “You are really good at this! What is your name? I am Jill….” I mumbled “Kristin, and thanks….” as the next round started, but all during the next bit she smiled at me, and when were done, she came back, high-fived me, and after we stretched, and were closing down  kept talking to me. I now, felt pretty friendly myself….and talked back.

Then something funny happened.

The teacher, who again, was a friend I had known for years, joined in the conversation. And my other friend, in the front of class, stopped to walk over, join in and soon, we had a chit-chatting girls group going. A couple other stragglers jumped in the conversation, and I was that quick, part of the group.

I felt friendly! I felt confident! And I felt grateful these women were taking the time to talk to me.

Hold the fort.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

Ding Ding Ding….revelation.

I WAS WRONG WITH ME.

I was fine, the women were fine. These were nice ladies, I was a nice lady.

I had just made this crazy defining line in my head, that polarized me from anything good, that could come from those gym classes.

I had pre-destined my lot in life with regards to those classes. I was setting my own boundaries, my own rules, and my fear, made me miserable in them.

I had isolated myself.

They didn’t do it. I did.

Just like I had isolated myself when I was a teenager in my mom’s classes. Those ladies tried to include me, it was me who resisted. I finally recognized that.

And for years, here, in my own hometown, I was excluding myself. And it was as something as simple as a smile and a kind word from a nice lady, who had a hell of a lot more confidence than I did, to help me see that.

It was a pretty interesting aha for me. I wish I had thanked that lady for being so nice to me, and triggering such an epiphany but the moment passed, we toweled off, and all left, smiling.

I guess I’ll have to tell her this Saturday. 7:30, TKB class, led by Terri.