Avoid all mirrors

Do you remember why you are here?

Remember when the doctor looked at your blood tests and your weight and told you, in the “doctors know everything” type of voice, that you were obese? Yes, of course you remember. It felt like someone kicking your guts, but it was no surprise. You see yourself in the mirror, your pants don’t fit anymore and you hide behind others in pictures. And when the doctor told you that you had to exercise at least thirty minutes everyday - walking was not enough - or you’d get diabetes, do you remember your thoughts?

You said you’d diet and go to the gym (like you’ve said so many times before) but this time you are going to stick with it, because you’re serious and responsible, but also because you’re afraid: afraid of having a heart attack, of bad cholesterol and insulin dependence. And it was out of that fear that you walked yourself to that small gym and looked at their “all levels” classes, signed up for this cardio-zumba-dance-aerobics thingy and went home to drown your anxiety over a bowl of… salad.  

So you arrive ten minutes early and realize it was a mistake. It gives you time to think, to panic, to wonder what the hell you’re doing in a place like this. And for those long minutes you try to hide in a corner away from the regulars: the fit, well-dressed, tanned and good looking people that go to the gym everyday. Why are there so many mirrors? How much money do these people spend on sport outfits? And what’s the deal with socks? Why is everyone wearing sneakers without socks?

And when the instructor arrives you can do nothing but sigh. Of course she is young and energetic, all smiles and hugs and fancy leggings and matching sports bra. She looks as if she just jumped out of her Instagram feed and into the gym, perfectly braided hair and sock-less shoes. She glances at you and you quickly look away. She already knows you're not one of them.

The music starts and you wonder if it really has to be this loud or if you’re just getting old. As the instructor starts yelling instructions over the music, telling you to "get your blood pumping", you begin to move your limbs in a clumsy way. You try to follow but things are getting faster and more complicated by the minute.

“Left, right, left, right, and turn and clap. Again!”

You wish there was a way to hide from the mirrors, to hide from the fact that you don’t belong here. The class has just begun and you’re already a mess. Why on Earth did you think that wearing a gray shirt would be a good idea? The dark spots below your armpits and across your chest only seem to be growing bigger. Sweat is dripping down your forehead and into your eyes and of course you forgot to bring a towel, or water, or anything to end your suffering.

“Five more times! Come on, guys!”

How is she able to yell while moving so much? You can barely breathe and you pause for a second, looking around the class for a partner in misery, another sad soul struggling to keep up with the “dancing”. But no, of course not. Everyone is in sync, toned arms and legs moving in perfect harmony, happy faces all around you.

"Come on, everyone. Let's do this!"

As you fight a wave of nausea, panting, the memories start rushing back. The shame, the humiliation, all those times when you pretended to be sick just to skip gym class, everything flows through your mind. You blink back the tears that are filling your eyes and try to breathe, because there is enough shame already to add a crybaby in the middle of the gym... a fat crybaby.

"Almost there, guys. Don't give up".

You know she's talking about you, looking at you right now, standing still and gasping like a goddamn fish. So you clench your fists, take a deep breath and start moving again, because you remember the doctor’s words and the number on the scale, you remember why you came today. And maybe if you could just redirect all the shame you feel, then maybe you could finish this class and save yourself the embarrassment of walking out early, of giving up, again.

The instructor yells something but you can't listen over the sound of your heartbeat on your temples. The edges of your vision start to blur and you wonder what it feels like to faint. What if you fainted in class? They'd probably call an ambulance or something and you'd tell your doctor that you tried, you really did. You tried so hard that you almost fainted in a room full of healthy strangers and mirrors. The doctor will understand that you tried, right?

"Breathe it out guys, great job! Let's stretch those legs".

You notice that the music has changed and apparently that means the class is almost over. The instructor is now doing some post workout stretches or something, but you have no energy left. You pretend to follow along, knowing that tomorrow you won't be able to move. Everything hurts. You briefly look at the mirror and barely recognize yourself: red face, messy hair, sweaty shirt sticking to your oversized belly. You look away disgusted, ashamed, wishing you could just disappear.

The class finishes and you sneak out in a hurry to the bathroom. You splash your face with cold water, avoiding the dreadful reflection in front of you. Others start coming in and changing clothes, so confident in their toned bodies that they feel no shame of being almost naked in front of others. The tears threaten again so you close the faucet and rush out the door. Home, you just want to go home. You are almost at the exit when you bump into the instructor.

"Hi!", she says.

"Hi..."

"First time?", she asks, as if it wasn't blatantly obvious.

"Yeah".

"Well, you did great today", she says with a smile so sincere that you can't help but believe her.

"Um... thanks?"

"See you next class?"

"Sure", you stutter.

"Awesome! See ya!"

And she goes away, all energy and smiles and good vibes trailing after her. As you stand there you notice others exiting the gym, flushed, sweaty, exhausted, and for a brief moment you feel like you might even make it. You survived one class, maybe you can do this again. You enter your car and look at the rearview mirror. You do remember why you came here, but for the first time there's hope.