Here’s to you, Grandma!

I’ve started going to the gym during my lunch break. It’s nothing huge, just weights, and it leaves my nights free for running and doing other more important stuff (i.e. drinking). I changed my gym membership from a snooty personal gym to the YMCA. This basically means that instead of working out with a bunch of women who drive SUVs and struggle with the weight of their diamond rings, I work out with women who struggle with lifting their sagging breasts into their bathing suits and drive Lincoln town-cars.

Yesterday was my first attempt at working out there. I rushed in to find the tiny locker room filled with women over 65. Quite a site! Turns out 11:30 is time for Elder Aqua at the Y. That’s right boy and girls, and the oldies you can imagine sporting bathing suits and swim caps. How lucky could a girl be? After the initial shock of seeing what I was going to look like at 70, I hit the weights with a renewed sense of ferocity.

As I worked out I watched them in the pool. They were peacefully bouncing up and down in their multicolored caps, stretching and bending like reeds. It was like watching that new Subway advertisement. They started to grow on me.

At 21 I thought I was too thin. At 27 I thought I was too fat. At 30 I finally came to love my body. So I have a little belly? I also have a big butt and ample breasts. In the end I came to realize there’s nothing horrible about having a curvy body. I love it, and I know it could be worse. For some reason that year, I gave my self permission to let go and stop worrying what others thought of it. It was the best part of turning 30. I’m no longer self conscious in bed and I no longer feel like other women look better than I do. Now they just look different.

Today I walked into the locker room and found 5 Grammy’s getting ready for their class. Struggling to pull on their suits, they gabbed about their kids. I tried to sneak by them to no avail. “Good morning, missy!” they chanted. “Good morning!” I chirped.

I started to change and then started to laugh. These women were talking to me naked as can be without a care in the world. Drooping buts and varicose veins be damned, they couldn’t have cared less. So I joined them. I didn’t wrap my towel around me while I put my shorts on; I just put on my shorts with reckless abandon. I didn’t hide while messing with my sports bra, and I didn’t worry about binding over properly to tie my shoes.

Life is more important that thick thighs and spider veins. Life is about getting past the little things that harbor into self-doubt, and actually living your life. Life is about being 80, 50, or 30 years old and saying, “fuck it – I’ve got better things to worry about”. So "yea me" and my naked self!