As we parked at the gym, I spotted her and let out a groan, rolling my eyes. “Look at that,” I said to my partner, “This is exactly why I dread coming here—it’s always someone like her.”
She looked amazing—fit and flawless, with a confidence that seemed to draw everyone’s gaze. We’ve all encountered her: the upbeat woman at the gym, seemingly dressed for a beach day rather than a workout, always posing and soaking up the attention she clearly craves.
Why does her beauty irritate me so much? Why does the spotlight she attracts bother me? It’s not like I want that kind of attention; I prefer to keep my own body under wraps.
Sometimes, I find myself wishing she would trip and fall—nothing serious, just a clumsy slip off the latest fitness contraption. A little gym mishap, just enough to take her down a peg.
Has she ever struggled with her weight? I can imagine she’s the type who “bounced back” effortlessly after having kids.
So why do I roll my eyes when I see her? She’s probably not a villain, unless you count the way she makes me feel about myself.
I don’t know any of the women at my gym, but while some resemble me, many seem to embody her ideal.
Perhaps she serves as a harsh mirror, reflecting the aspects of myself I’d rather hide. Maybe she symbolizes the discipline and self-control I can’t seem to master when it comes to food and fitness.
Her toned midriff is a stark reminder of my own body, which has yet to recover from carrying two large babies. Seeing her reminds me that my kids are now independent enough to make their own sandwiches, and I can no longer use them as an excuse for my own choices.
Her perfectly styled hair highlights the fact that I’m on day three of using dry shampoo. Maybe I’m envious because she appears untouched by scars or imperfections. Perhaps she has never felt the need to conceal her body.
She clearly doesn’t have children tangled around her legs as she attempts to exercise. Or maybe I’m falling into the trap of assuming her physical perfection equates to a perfect life.
What if she’s battling her own insecurities? Maybe she gazes in the mirror and only sees flaws. No, I bet she has flawless self-esteem. She probably consults a therapist for that perfect self-image. She must have an incredible job that funds those sessions and allows her to travel the world.
As I step off the treadmill and we head out of the parking lot, I realize something important. Perhaps shaming others for being fit is just as damaging as fat-shaming. Deep down, the person I really resent isn’t her; it’s me.
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In summary, the envy I feel towards the fit girl at the gym may stem from my own insecurities. It’s a reminder that we often project our feelings onto others, and the real battle may lie within ourselves.