Jenny On the Spot

…I wasn’t going to blog about this. And since I am not one to toot my own horn (heh, I wrote “toot”), I thought I should continue in that vain vein of humility… modesty, lowliness even. 

BUT I can’t stop myself.

Here goes. While the episode I am about to share may suggest I think I am full of myself; in all reality I am merely passing on another’s perspective of Me. A favorable perspective, if you will. But I don’t share this story to make me seem more attractive than I actually am, no. I relay this story because My own perspective of Me is far different than, apparently, some people one person thinks. Furthermore, if all people held this opinion of Me, I’d be O.K. with that… totally. 

I awoke at 4:40 in the a.m. yesterday morning. I needed to get the Gym by 5 to work my arms, and make it to the 5:30 spin class. I woke up possessing all the things most people wake up with - bad breath, trashed hair, pillow case folds on my cheeks… drool, peri-menopausal sweatiness, and eyes half-fused together with sleep goo. Ya know. Please tell me you know… these things are normal, right?

I brushed my teeth and switched from jammies to workout-wear. I rubbed a bit of my new (and FREE) Tahiti Sweetie lotion onto my calves and shins. I only put forth so much effort because they were so dry it appeared as if my children snuck into my room overnight and used my legs as a chalkboard. 

I finally made it to The Gym. I worked the arms, rubbed my eyes, worked the arms, rubbed my eyes, scratched my butt head, worked the arms, breathed a number a heavy, tired sighs. I was so tired. I hauled my heavy legs upstairs to the cycle room. Insanity. How many “hills” THIS time?

At the beginning of class I introduced myself to the spinner-person beside me. I had seen this person before, but had never spoken with him before. We engaged in “usual” spin-class-mate conversation. Soon we started “hills” and speed and misery and such…

As I began to sweat like a sow, I was thankful the wall of mirrors was on the opposite side of the room. I didn’t want to know how much more I should be sucking in my belly to camouflage the fact that my belly is an uncontrollable-living-beast that resents the fact I let myself gain 60ish pounds in all three of my pregnancies. 60 times 3. Gained and lost. Think “deflated over-inflated balloon”. Lovely.

I wondered how much the under-parts of my arms were flapping - possibly assaulting my spinning neighbors. I wondered how much of my back-fat bounced as I pedaled up… and down…. up…. and down… fast… jolting. Ah, the joys of being a woman and the constant assault of the unattainable air-brushed Hollywood image…

At the end of the class, my spinning neighbor said, “Hey Jenny…”

Me: Gasping for air, I pant, “Yeah.”

Neighbor: “I’m sure you hear this all the time, but…”

In my head: “Oh, he’s going to compliment me on my highlights. I get lots of compliments on my highlights.” I begin to nod, because, yes, I DO hear THAT all the time… 

Neighbor continues, “…you are a beautiful woman.”

In my head: “Holy, Oh My Heck! Nu-uh!” A bead of sweat drips from my brow and stings my eye. 

Me: *crickets chirping and stinging-eye twitching*

In my head: ” I have 3 little kids! Kids! Mommy Mommerson here! I smell like graham crackers and apple juice! Beautiful? Woman? I have braces and zits! I. Smell. Like. Graham. Craaaaaaaaaaaaackerrrrrrrrrrrrrrs!”

Me: *more crickets chirping*

Me: “Oh, wow. Thank you. Thththhank you.”

Awkward silence: Yep.

In my head: “I have got to do something to take the edge offa this potentially awkward situation…”

Me: “Thank you. Actually, I have 3 young children, and for the record - I do not hear that all the time. So, thank you, it is a nice compliment to receive.”

Truth be told, in my recollection, “beautiful woman” has never been said to me or about me before. Nevahhh. “Cute” - occasionally…. “Girl” - certainly. 

But I tried to keep it cool. Coolio. I didn’t point out the “never” part, I just left it loosely at “NOT all the time”. I am so edgy. Beautiful woman are edgy, right?

Of course, my sweet husband is always coming up with great words of admiration, such as “Oh honey, that shirt doesn’t make you look fat, it’s your face…” I’m kidding. He’s a blind fool, and I love him for it. 

Kind of like the end of that spin class, I am at a loss for how to end this one.

*walks away… stubs toe*