Trying to Enjoy Exercise

Fat woman on elliptical machine swaying and mouthing "Let it rock, let it rock, let it rock!"

Yeah...that would be me.  I'm trying to enjoy exercise.  Trying to make myself believe I'm like a kid at the playground or a 20-something at a disco.  I wonder how much of a fool I'm making of myself by with my feeble attempts at enjoying exercise.  Do the big guys with bulging muscles and young girls with high pony tails look at me and think what the hell is that?

They're there to be cool.  To look good.  To show-off.  They might expel a few strategic grunts to make sure we know how hard their working it, but they easily hop up and down the flight of stairs separating the weight zone from the cardio machines.

It's hard for me to be there among them.  I mostly try to block them out.  Pretend they aren't there.  I'm in my own happy little world...dancing and singing along to my favorite gym mix.  Maybe they block me out, too.  Who wants to see a crazy fat lady when they can focus on the buns of steel on the next machine over.  Fat isn't pretty.  Fat isn't sexy.  Fat is scary.  A demon, a specter and force to fear.  To avoid.

I wish I had that kind of self-awareness and desire to show-off a bit.  Maybe if I did, I would have never let myself get to this point.  Maybe I wouldn't hate exercise so much.  Maybe it would be my social arena where I would be a beautiful person among the other beautiful people, not the strange fat lady that barely fits on the equipment.