Freshman year of college all my friends were men. The majority of them went to the gym regularly and would always talk about their weight. Most of them were trying to gain weight. They would talk about how they are 150 lbs and this is the heaviest they have ever been. They would be taller than me but I would still weigh more. I started telling myself I needed to weigh less than this 6 ft man or I am going to be fat.
Meanwhile, I was actively gaining weight, my pants wouldn’t button, my shirts wouldn’t get over my shoulders. I felt like the tall girl from the monsters versus aliens movie. I would tell them about how I want to lose weight and they would tell me to do cardio. I am asthmatic and when I get too out of breath I start to panic. My being out of breath quickly turns into a panic attack. So, traditional cardio on a treadmill was out of the question. They would then suggest that I start lifting weights. The same thing that they were doing to gain weight. I quickly rejected that idea too because I wanted to LOSE weight not gain it like them. Eventually I met a guy (who later became my partner of two years) who loved the gym and lifting weights. Specifically he loved leg day. I wanted to spend time with him so I started going with him. I would go and see big muscled men and perfectly toned pretty women. Immediately I felt out of place. My cellulite butt and muffin top stomach did not belong.The gym only made me feel worse.
I tried going to a yoga class because people told me it might work for me. So I gave it a shot. I walked in and once again only saw perfectly toned women in workout sets. I walked into the room in my leggings that my stomach spilled over and a crop top that was too tight to breathe in. Immediately I felt out of place. The class started nice and easy stretches. Then it really started. She had us doing these hard balancing holds. My muscles started burning, my body felt like it was going to collapse. I was out of breath while all the girls around me looked so peaceful. I had to take a knee and sit while the class continued around me. The shame was unbearable. I pushed myself to keep going even though I felt like I was dying. I couldn’t let these girls see me fail.
Over this past summer I lived on campus and nobody was ever around. I took this chance to explore the RAC more. I found a machine called a stair master that was pretty secluded. I found a place where I would not be watched. I set myself up with my IPad and Love Island and managed to stay on it for a whole episode and I actually felt good. I felt accomplished. The machine may have been on one of the slower settings but I did it.
Why is it that I decided that my weight mattered so much? Because of the men around me? Patriarchal standards of how much space a woman should take up? Growing up in a body positive household seemed to have no effect on me. Why? I have so many questions about why I care so much and I don’t know if I will ever get an answer
This is definitely relatable. I have recently actively gained weight myself (thanks to a medication side effect that I might choose to write about for my own post — as alluded to in our last conversation :> ). I am at odds about what I am doing and can do with my physical limitations to at least slow the roll(s) if I can’t halt or turn back that mass gain. Before a big health crash, I used to be a hyperkinetic indvidual. The “I couldn’t sleep so I refinished my floors” type of ADHD*. Now, I use a power chair to get around campus, because even a manual chair or walker would send (and has sent) me into nervous exhaustion. (See: a week in the hospital during Spring 2026 semester leaving me wondering if I could do this college thing after all.)
*If you ever watch/ed the movie Real Genius, the character, Jordan, used to be a pretty fair comparison.
I used to exercise alone, making things up as I went along so no one can tell me I’m “doing it wrong”. I also often find out of the way places to do my exercise. I haven’t yet found my niche at the RAC, but one of these unused corners is where I learned that the rowing machine was my jam: I’ve never had to wait my turn to use one, and they’re often off in strange corners. I like strange corners; I can move like no one is watching because no one *is* watching. I’m autistic enough that this (mostly) works. That’s how I navigate the male gaze: by outwierding it. I do recommend it, if you ever find yourself stuck in the patriarchal maze of expectations.
That said, I am really getting into Salma’s Thursday night yoga class. I’ll be there on Thursday nights, mostly in child pose when things are too much for me to do at the time. Neither the class nor the instructor mind. Show up if you want company while you’re exercising. :>