Real Women, Real Workouts

When I first moved to Boston back in 1985, I was religious about going to the gym. As soon as I landed my first "real job," as a copywriter for a major cable company, I joined a women's workout club. It was conveniently located halfway between my apartment and my office. Every single weekday morning (and many Saturdays too), I took aerobics. Those were the days when we wore suspender leotards, unitards with crop tops and even leg warmers. And, yes, there was some day-glow going down as well. At 7:15 every morning, we were there, determined to "make it burn."

The locker room presented a daily scene just as dated as the gym. After class, we showered and blow dried our hair (picture Melanie Griffith in Working Girl, pre-haircut). Most of us worked in offices nearby and we all wore those little skirt and jacket suits, some with silky bow ties, and walked out in white athletic shoes, changing into pumps once we got to work.

Yikes!

Fast forward some 30 years. These days, I belong to a local — and co-ed — YMCA. It's a wonderful facility, thanks mainly to donations from two extremely high net worth neighbors. There are about 60 group exercise classes to choose from every week. In a perfect world, I'd go to yoga Monday, Wednesday and Friday; and to Zumba Tuesday, Thursdays, Saturdays and Sundays.

Of course, it's not a perfect world.

Today, for example, we're having our second snowstorm in as many weeks. They're anticipating another 12 inches on top of the 28 we already have. Even if the Y were open (and I don't know that it is), I'm not driving in this. No how, no way.

Weather isn't the only impediment either. Between kids and clients and cars and conference calls, I often have conflicts that keep me from shaking my booty (or downward dogging, depending on the day). I figure that if I get there 4 times a week I'm doing pretty well.

I've also gotten over how I look while I'm there.

Some of the younger women must spend half their paychecks on workout wear. Lululemon yoga pants start at $88 and can run more than $100. (My teenage daughter once asked for a pair and I reminded her that she doesn't workout.) Myself, I'm perfectly happy in my Target specials, with an old tee shirt on top. And if I'm wearing a sports bra, no one's going to know about it but me. That tee shirt ain't coming off.

I do marvel at the, shall we say "firmer" bodies next to mine (especially in the jam-packed class on Saturday mornings). I wonder if they even know how remarkable they are. Or do they only see their nearly invisible flaws when they look in the mirror, like we all did? Regardless, I refuse to be intimidated. I'm not 23 anymore and let's just say there's more of me to love than there used to be. But, it isn't a competition. I'm there (when I'm actually there) for me.

That's why I love the TV commercial my BFF recently sent me. (She, btw, also remains a dedicated gym goer now that we're in our fifth fabulous decade.) The spot was created by Sports England to help women overcome "worries about being judged for being the wrong size, not fit enough and not skilled enough."

It's called "This Girl Can" and you can watch it here. 

My favorite line? "I jiggle therefore I am." Yep, pretty much the state of things. On this end. These days.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.  

Sports Bras and Other Outer Underwear

October was Breast Cancer Awareness month and a local gym encouraged members to wear sports bras to class in order to raise awareness. No big, right? I wear a sports bra to the local Y every day. But, this was a little different; they wanted women to wear sports bras without a shirt over them. 

I read about this and had an immediate reaction ...

So-o-o-o not gonna happen!

Let me count the reasons why: back fat, side fat, above the boob fat, below the boob fat, under the armpit fat. Basically, for my sports bras to be supportive enough to hold up my 51-year old girls for 55 minutes of dancing, they have to be pretty snug. They do their job and they look fine under a tee shirt. That's exactly where they'll stay.

No underwear as outerwear for me, if you please. Move along. Nothing to see here.

I wasn't always so ... um ... shy. In the big 80s, I did a lot of aerobics and, consequently, owned a lot of big 80s workout wear. Yes, I had the suspender leotard, the thong-back leotard, the unitard with the leotard briefs over it, the contrasting elastic belt, the leg warmers. (Thanks to my short hair, I never did the headband thing, thank you very much.) I even had a few choice pieces manufactured and marketed by the "Make it burn" queen herself, Jane Fonda. (And a signed poster, her record album, and eventually her video tapes.)

That was then and this is now.

When the new principal of our high school articulated and threatened to enforce a dress code for the annual "Powderpuff Football" game, my teenage daughter and her friends were up in arms. Apparently, the all-girls game is a long tradition around here (news to me; I went to school in New York City with no football of any kind). And, also apparently, it has become standard practice for the juniors to attend in sports bras.

To the students, this seemed a serious threat to their life, liberty and pursuit of happiness. To me, it seemed like common sense. (Hello? This is New England; we have weather.)

Turns out it was much more. And, as often as I tend to side with the world's downtrodden and the freedom fighters, I have to say that I agree wholeheartedly with the principal's decision.

When it comes to public sporting events that require scant clothing, there are three types of girls. Those who are comfortable and confident (and naturally thin), and wear the prescribed clothing (or lack thereof). Those who go on crash diets, jeopardizing their health, in order to do so. And, those who miss out on the event altogether rather than adhere to the custom. It was for these two last groups that the new policy was articulated.

After complaints from parents, the principal met with representatives of the junior class and it was agreed that the encouraged mode would be tank tops rather than sports bras, and that participating would be optional. No matter how many grumbled (and, trust me, many did), this seemed like a fair compromise and a good way to help the students think about inclusion and sensitivity. It may have also, unintentionally, taught some of the girls about getting around rules they don't like.

To finish the story, the annual Powderpuff Game was held yesterday. We lost to the neighboring town (and arch rival). A portion of the stadium stands collapsed and three girls were hurt (one taken to the hospital with an assumed broken leg).

And in all the pictures of junior girls that I've seen online ...

Tank tops are rolled up, exposing their midriffs and creating, in effect, sports bras.

If you enjoyed this post, order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.