By Way of Introduction
I can’t believe that I’m sharing this embarrassing story with the world in my very first post.
Something happened to me today that reveals a significant aspect of my personality. This aspect of my personality, however, surprises me every time I encounter it, even though I know it exists as a vital part of me. If someone who knows me reads this, they probably won’t be surprised, and yet, somehow I am.
Today I left the gym in tears. Well, I actually left the room where they hold classes in tears, proceeded to completely break down in the locker room, and then upon recovering, walked home on the verge of tears, certain every passerby knew I either had a meltdown or would any moment. I felt them swerve away from me, fearing that my barely-contained misery was contagious, yet searching for evidence of what had caused this shameful public display of emotion.
So, to all you who saw me on my walk home today, here’s what happened:
A few weeks ago my favorite instructor moved, and her class has not been adequately replaced yet. I should note, by the way, that it’s surprising that I even have a favorite instructor, as I generally dislike going to the gym. In fact, there is another class, an abs workout class, for which I harbor serious anger and hatred. Each week, at the end of that class, the instructor, whom I secretly call Hilary because she looks exactly like Hilary Swank, says, “Good job, you guys,” and looks around at us, expecting, I suppose, a smile or word of appreciation or simply acknowledgement. It takes every ounce of my social training not to scowl, or yell, or spit in her general direction. The class is not fun; I refuse to pretend that it is or could be. I feel she knows we hate what she makes us do in that class.
So I had this one instructor I liked. I liked her because she was perky without being annoying, made self-depracating remarks, did not look like a movie star or supermodel like every other trainer at this gym, and said hi and made small talk with me outside of class without seeming like it was torturous. (I can see me talking to Hilary now, as she gazes down on me from her height of six feet, thinking, “How much longer must I speak to this awkward clutz who can’t even do a simple scissor kick?”) I liked her, and I liked her class, which is the first non-yoga class I ever liked in my life. I am not a “fitness” person. But she moved.
Tonight it was announced that a new class would replace the one I liked: instead of cardio kickboxing, it would be cardio dance. I like to dance, so I thought it would be ok. At first, everything was fine; it was frustrating to learn the steps, but I was starting to like it. Then, the event happened.
The instructor, whom I’ll call Michael for no particular reason, told us to get in a circle. Instantly, I sensed a problem. I knew what was coming. Sure enough, he wanted us to “freestyle” — dance however we wanted, for however long we wanted, one at a time in the middle of the circle.
My inner Jane Eyre, which is truly never far from the surface, emerged. I am a shy, bookish type. I do not display myself in front of strangers. I only want to be noticed by people I like. And above all, I do not like to be looked at. But also like Jane Eyre, I can be rebellious. I refused to participate. Twice. Michael looked at me, on two separate occasions, and told me to go into the circle, and I refused. The second time, I thought he might not let us end class until I went into the circle. But I prevailed.
Every other woman in the class danced in the middle of the circle. I was not intimidated by their skill. They were not dancers; they danced poorly or half-heartedly or awkwardly or with a silly grin. But they all did it, one by one. Except for me.
I could barely hold my tears back as I stepped side to side in time with the other women forming the circle. I could hardly keep the beat as I clapped, since the sound of the music seemed pushed so far beneath what felt like the sound of my own humiliation. As soon as Michael began to lead everyone in stretching, I picked up my things and left the room, heading straight to the locker room bathroom to indulge in the aforementioned complete breakdown.
Why is this surprising to me? Most people would probably assume I would hate being in such a situation. I suppose there are two reasons I am surprised. First, I actually really love to dance. I kept thinking, this is an opportunity to dance — take it! However, I never dance in front of people I don’t know, even though people who doknow me have seen me dancing the most ridiculous, unselfconscious dances ever danced. The second reason is that it was yet another encounter with a part of myself that I simultaneously hate and nurture. You see, I love being Jane Eyre-ish. I love being shy and bookish. It is who I am. And yet, I have these non-shy, non-bookishparts of myself that people will never know about, because they have already written me off as the absurdly shy, bookish girl who had an anxiety attack in the middle of a simple exercise class. I mean, why couldn’t she just dance in the circle? It was only a moment, everyone else did it, no one was judging her. What a bore.
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As a final note, I’ll just say that this experience also made me think about teachers and students. What was Michael thinking when I wouldn’t step into the circle? Did he think I was just being a bad student, a rebellious troublemaker undermining his authority by refusing to do the assignment? What did he think when I left the room? Did he feel guilty for making me cry? Did he even notice?
Although I have technically been a student for many years, the last few, when I was writing my dissertation, were not occupied by traditional student behavior. In a sense, taking these gym classes are a return to being in a kind of student situation I no longer want to be in – that is, at the very beginning of the learning experience, and in a subject I neither like nor am good at. Was it wrong of me to have refused to go into the circle? Should I have faced my fear head-on? Or am I in a place where I can now resist humiliation, or at least, resist further humiliation? Should I plunge into territory beyond my comfort zone each time I encounter it? Or have I earned the right to take that plunge only when I deem it useful and productive to my own growth?
Either way, I’ll probably never take that class again.
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