In a feisty rant about fitness and "anxious masculinity," women's weightlifting guru Mistress Krista once described attending a strength-training workshop where she was the only woman:
"There were 15 men and me. When one is the only female in a group, especially a group typically defined by masculine characteristics (e.g., strength, power, mastery of physical skills), one of three things happens:
1. the woman is accepted into the group after the other people decide that she belongs;
2. the woman is rejected by the group after they decide she does not belong; or she experiences small reminders that she is not welcome and not one of the boys;
3. the woman is largely ignored, her presence neither of interest nor of value to the group."
Her rant immediately made me think of my situation at my own little hometown gym, where I've been one of the only serious female weightlifters for the past three years. I can't say anybody at my gym has out and out rejected me or indicated that I'm not welcome in the main weightlifting area. But I do get plenty of those little daily reminders that I'm still not "one of the boys."
There's a jovial small-town camaraderie that goes on all around me but never seems to include me, and I often feel left out. A few of the more accomplished lifters have been accepting and even proactively friendly toward me (possibly these guys are more secure in their masculinity, thus not as threatened by allowing a female into the ranks?).
But the vast majority -- I'd say 95 percent of the testosterone brigade that I see day after day at the gym -- staunchly ignores me. I might as well be invisible. Maybe they just don't have a clue how to interact with me, since I'm too old to be fuckable and too knowledgeable to patronize, and what's left with a little old lady who's not your mom so she won't even do your laundry? At any rate, it would appear that my presence, like the wallpaper, is neither of interest nor of value to them.
Well, says I, the hell with that. Fook invisibility -- I ain't havin it.
Why, you may be asking, do I care so much what these meatheads think? My own approach to the sport of lifting happens to be very geeky and sciencey. I happily sit around in my spare time poring over journal articles with such poetic titles as "Acylation stimulating protein: its role in control of metabolism in the adipose tissue" and "Neural adaptations to resistive exercise: mechanisms and recommendations for training practices." For fun!
Okay, so maybe I need to get out more.
Anyway, even though I have such a kinky fascination with the scientific aspects, the biomechanics, physiology, kinesthesiology, molecular neurobiology, and so forth, I'm still just a babe in diapers (okay, Depends, whatever) compared to some of the guys who've been lifting for 15 years or more. They have all kinds of practical experience that I really respect, based on knowledge they learned the hard way. They know stuff, most of them. Complicated stuff; useful stuff; stuff that I would like to know. There's really not a reverse correlation between neck diameter and IQ.
But even if we assume they're all anabolic Einsteins, the question remains: Why am I so eager to be "one of the boys," to fit in with the guys? Am I trying to be an honorary man? The token woman who's allowed behind the curtain, granted access to the "No Girls Allowed" tree house, into the locker room and other hallowed halls where ordinary females dare not tread?
I've thought about it long and hard, and I really don't think that's it. The way I see it, there are three primary motivating factors for me. First, going to the gym is kind of a big chunk of my life these days, and it would be a much nicer experience if the people I see every day would acknowledge me. Even if it's just a nod of recognition. This might not have mattered so much when I was living in a big urban area where everyone was strangers and anonymity and invisibility were the norm. But in a small, hyper-friendly town, consistently ignoring somebody is a pretty big snub, way out of the norm. Hence, it's extra-uncomfortable for me.
Second, there's the whole pragmatic side of things. I'm lifting heavy enough now that I really do need to be able to recruit friendly spotters. Also, there are practical things I can learn from these guys, and vice versa -- geeky things they can learn from me. It's part of the pleasure of the whole experience, being able to casually exchange information with colleagues, whether it's about squat form or nutrition, a big supplement sale or an upcoming powerlifting meet.
And finally, third, the biggie. I think for me a lot of this is really about being an older woman, a woman over fifty, struggling to make my way in a world where I can't rely on youthful sex appeal to open doors for me. I think many younger women don't even realize how much they depend on their attractiveness to oil the wheels when it comes to gaining entrance, visibility, and acceptance. I'm not talking about the wolf whistles and leers -- just about ordinary guys taking notice, acknowledging, being helpful and friendly. Now that I'm old, I'm not even a blip on anybody's radar. Every year that goes by, I'm increasingly aware of how invisible I'm becoming, how easily I'm dismissed; how "my presence, like the wallpaper, is neither of interest nor of value." And yeah, it kind of hurts.
Like any human being, I want to be acknowledged, accepted, valued. But NOT for youthful hawtness, or a rich daddy, or a famous husband. I want to be recognized for my own unique badass self, and for being good at what I do.
So today I polished up my ratty old social skills and launched an aggressive 30-day campaign to make myself Miss Congeniality at the gym. For the next month, my goal is to approach at least three guys every day and strike up a scintillating, witty, informed, yet utterly non-flirtatious conversation (perhaps I should wear a button that says, "NO, as a matter of fact, I'm NOT hitting on you!"?), until I am no longer invisible.
It's pretty clear that Mensa membership, dogs dressed in donut costumes, or the world's hottest rose garden aren't going to win me too many points at the gym. So it's just me and my muscles. Can I do it? Can I break through whatever sexist, ageist barriers I'm up against, and maybe in the process help make the whole gym experience more pleasant, welcoming, and rewarding for other women who may follow? I love a good challenge, and damned if I'm not going to give it my best. Stay tuned! |
