Ohio Girl

"Did you know women's metabolism slows when they reach their thirties?" a well-groomed woman asks her friend.

"That's why this vitamin is specially formulated to blah, blah, blah, blah."

The commercial is not meant for those of us whose metabolism has always been rather casual like a Sunday stroll.

I leave for the gym.

I go to a women's only gym. It is very pink. As I enter the attendant is finishing a smoke break out front. She loves to gamble and complain and freak people out with detailed descriptions of her gastric bypass surgery. She is the only one I like here.

There are only a few women inside on this stormy Saturday. A woman in purple shorts pumps a machine manically in the corner. Perfectly formed muscles ripple beneath skin that reminds me of beef jerky. She has been a life-long tanner. When she says hello to a woman in passing her voice is all husky and phlegm-filled. She has been a life long smoker.

A woman who has worn her swim suit does solo aerobics in the other corner. She switches between Latin hip shaking and Flashdance gyrations. She is very thin. She has no muscle tone. She watches her own breasts jiggle as she moves. When the Macarena comes on several years too late she switches to that, smiling at herself.

An older woman moves from machine to machine slowly. She sits and then pulls her legs and arms into them, forcing them to move. She smiles when she finishes a set and leaves puddles of sweat behind.  

I am wearing the same t-shirt and sweat pants I have worn the last few workouts. I am wondering if anyone notices. As I work my arms I admire the well-defined bicep that stands out right next to a chunk of flab. They are like an old married couple.

All around us shiny, blonde women with tiny, taut bodies smile. They are hung on the wall to encourage; guide us down the path. They are like commercial breaks. We hardly notice them at all.