chapter thirty-two
MY WAKE-UP CALL comes the next day when the UPS man delivers my new sponsored athletic wear. The repulsion in his eyes at the sight of my pale, cadaver-like face and stained pajamas as he asks for a signature is a gut punch. So much so that I feel compelled to fake cough and give the unsolicited explanation that I’m the victim of a mysterious, possibly deadly plague. I’m not suffering from a severe case of self-loathing! I swear! Don’t judge me. OkaythanksBYE.
If there’s any hope of going back to normal, I have to start somewhere. I need to return to the gym—the place that used to be my sanctuary from all things bad, ugly, and stressful. Not only for the sake of my business and livelihood, but for myself. For my soul.
The moment I step through the turnstiles and inhale that familiar scent of sweat, disinfectant spray, grit, and determination, the anxiety of leaving my apartment begins to dissipate. There aren’t a ton of people here, given that it’s midafternoon. I take a quick glance around, recognizing a couple faces. The Walkman guy with the goatee. The bodybuilder woman clenching her rock-hard butt in the mirror. Thankfully, the one person I’m desperately trying to avoid is nowhere to be seen.
When I’m face-to-face with my favorite squat rack by the window, the guilt floods in. That’s the thing with strength training: breaks delay progress, regardless of muscle memory.
By my second set, I’m crimson-faced, frustrated, and on the verge of tears. I feel the strain. The immediate soreness and Jell-O sensation in my legs from days of inactivity.
I’m glistening with sweat, contemplating giving up and retreating to the sanctuary of my bed, when a woman I don’t recognize approaches. She’s middle-aged, with tanned skin and gorgeous deep brown eyes. My attention immediately zeroes in on her neon-colored Lizzo concert T-shirt, which reads Feelin’ Good As Hell.
“Great T-shirt,” I tell her.
She smiles, glancing down to stretch it out. “Thank you! Got it at her concert in the winter. The woman can seriously perform. And in heels.”
“Right? I don’t know how you can rock heels for that long without ruining your feet.”
She nods in vigorous agreement, still lingering. “I hate to bother you . . .”
I draw in a breath, fully expecting her to ask me if I’m the girl from the viral photo.
“I don’t want to sound super creepy, but I was watching you do your squats and I couldn’t help but think, holy shit, that woman is freakin’ amazing. How much are you squatting?”
I stare at her in disbelief, for so long that she must think I’m deranged. After days of agonizing over what strangers think of me, the unsolicited compliment feels foreign. “Uh . . . thank you,” I stammer.
“I don’t think I can even squat the bar,” she laments as she examines the weight on the bar behind me. “I’m Rhonda, by the way.” She extends her hand in a friendly greeting.
“I’m Crystal.” I return her handshake before nodding to the squat rack. “And when it comes to squatting, it really depends on your body weight. That will determine how much you’re naturally able to push. But it’s like any other muscle training. You have to start off slow. Really slow with squats. Let your body get used to the dynamic movement.”
She rests her body weight on the rack as she nods with interest, so I continue.
“Squatting is a full-body workout. You’re not only working out your legs. You’re fully engaging your core and your butt too.”
“You sound like an expert.”
I’m struck by the realization that I really do know my shit. “Technically, I am. I’m a personal trainer.”
“No wonder you’re lifting so heavy. I’ve been meaning to book a few sessions with a trainer, just to get started on some weight lifting. It’s only my second day today and . . .” She glances around the Gym Bro Zone like a lost sheep. “I’m feeling a little overwhelmed.”
I tilt my head sympathetically, recalling the terror and embarrassment of entering the gym for the first time so many years ago.
I scan the space, taking in the sight of the intimidating gym bros grunting to our left. My eye catches the cable machine, where Scott committed Paper Towel Gate. The thought makes my gut ache, but only for a couple seconds before I’m transported back to Rhonda.
“Honestly, those guys look intimidating. But they’re really nice when you get to know them. Always willing to help if you need it,” I reassure her. As much as I rag on their frat-boy ways, they’re always friendly, greeting me whenever they see me.
She doesn’t look convinced, and I don’t really blame her, as a newbie. After rereading my client emails, I want to help someone again. “I have two more sets and I’ll be done. Then I can show you some things, if you want?”
She smiles eagerly, but quickly shakes her head. “It’s okay. I don’t want to take up your time if you’re busy.”
“You aren’t at all. Just give me a couple minutes.”
After my last set, I show Rhonda one or two basic moves on the machines. I usually start brand-new gym-goers on the machines so they can get a good base before moving on to free weights.
Rhonda tells me about how she’s a recently divorced high school guidance counselor. She moved to Boston from a small town near Atlanta. She’s been “on a self-acceptance journey,” as she describes it. While she doesn’t have the budget to go all Eat, Pray, Love, she has indulged in a new haircut and new wardrobe.
When she tells me I’ve inspired her to start lifting weights, I have to sit down on a bench to collect myself. It’s the first time in weeks I’ve felt hope, up close and personal, right before my eyes. Hope that another’s success and happiness can motivate me once again. Hope that this viral incident won’t define me for the rest of my life.
Meeting someone who’s learned to accept and respect herself again after her life was turned upside down is inspiring. Maybe I can learn a little something from her too. So I offer to train her free of charge.
• • •
“WATCH YOUR FORM. Straighten your back a little . . . there. You got it.”
I swell with pride as Rhonda embarks on her third set of squats. I started her off with just the bar, but after only a few sessions, she’s already progressed to one hundred and twenty pounds.
Even though Rhonda’s a decade older than me, she and I have become fast friends. She’s still job hunting, so our sessions are usually in the afternoon. In between her workouts, when she can catch a breath, she updates me about her divorce woes, the fierce custody battle over her two hairless cats, Tim and Tam, and how liberating it is to pee with the door open in her new apartment.
“I’ve even bought a bunch of period panties,” she announces proudly, doing a mini shimmy. “Chuck always hated them. Banned them when we first started dating. I mean, I know Fruit of the Loom isn’t sexy. But damn, those things are comfortable.”
“My ex hated them too. Not my last one. The one before. Neil.”
“Ah, the guy who used you as a rebound?”
“Yup. The one before Scott.”
Her forehead pinches as she registers my immediate mood shift. “What happened with Scott?”
I bite my bottom lip, and despite my loner instincts, everything floods out. Fast and furious. Like someone’s cut a slit through my umbrella in a torrential downpour. I open up about the viral photo. Letting it all out feels like a massive weight has been lifted from my shoulders.
Rhonda listens like a true guidance counselor, seated atop the riser, long past our scheduled hour-long session. “This is why I hide from the internet at all costs.” Her teasing expression is quickly replaced with sympathy. “I’m sorry you feel like you’ve lost your platform and some of your confidence over the photo. That’s awful. Humans aren’t made for that kind of scrutiny. No one should have to go through that.”
“It hasn’t been fun. But I’m managing. I hate feeling like I’ve sold lies to people. I’ve encouraged people to love themselves no matter what. I’m starting to think it’s a lot to ask. Loving yourself all day, every day?”
She shrugs. “I don’t think confidence and self-worth is something you magically attain. And you don’t simply hold on to it forever like a tangible object. It’s fluid. You can be confident in every aspect except one. Or something could happen and all your confidence can be shattered in an instant. Like the Instagram photo. It doesn’t mean you don’t inherently love yourself to the core.”
I take in her words for a moment. “How do I get my confidence back?”
“You’ve gotta find it on your own terms. You rediscover things you love about yourself and nourish them. And not just the things society tells you that you should love. Beauty isn’t objective, you know, as much as society tells us it is.”
I purse my lips. “I don’t know if I agree with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because people seem to like the same things, predominantly. Everyone thinks Scarlett Johansson is hot. The Hemsworth brothers. Idris Elba. Heart-shaped faces. Light eyes. You name it.”
“Only a segment of Western society,” she notes. “Curves used to be revered. And personally, I don’t know what people see in those Hemsworths. Ripped abs don’t do anything for me. Like, give me some dad bods already, Hollywood!”
I chuckle, picking at the lint on my leggings. She has a point there. Different regions of the world have different beauty ideals. And beauty standards change with time. “Maybe.”
“Everyone sees beauty differently, Crystal. What’s worse, that same society taught us as little girls that we’re not beautiful because we’re not white and skinny. I mean, did you ever have a Barbie doll that looked like you when you were a kid?”
“No.”
She gives me a pointed look. “Exactly. And all these massive corporations that told us we weren’t beautiful—that we weren’t objects of affection—are suddenly screaming at us to love ourselves.”
“And if we don’t love ourselves, all the time, we’re the problem.” I nod, coming to a stark realization. I became part of that machine, selling that idea to my followers.
After my session with Rhonda, I return to my apartment and lie on the living room floor, staring at the ceiling. To be honest, I can’t even remember when I first heard the terms body positivity and self-love. I’m guessing it was around the time I started my fitness platform. I latched on to those terms with all my might, because I thought they were powerful. Of course I deserve to love myself. Screw society, I thought.
Taking my own advice from my recent Instagram post, I grab a piece of paper and make a list of all the things I like about myself. Not just the things I like because society has deemed them valuable. I also make a list of the things I don’t like.
Interestingly, my “Likes” list is twice as long as my “Dislikes” list. I also put a bunch of things into both lists. I stare at the lists as it all begins to seep in.
Confidence and love for yourself are ever-changing. I’m allowed to feel good sometimes, and not so good at other times. Who’s to tell me I should be ashamed for not feeling my best after being humiliated online only days ago?
With this in mind, I get back on track with my workouts over the next few days, slowly but surely. Every time I return to the gym, my confidence returns, piece by piece.
I’m beginning to respect the image I see in the mirror, even if I don’t love it all the time. The other day, I caught my reflection after doing a challenging set of Romanian deadlifts. I actually smiled, not just because I was having a good hair day, but because I was proud of myself. And that was probably the happiest moment I’ve had in a very long time.
Of course, there are setbacks with every step forward. But as long as I’m honest with myself in my dark moments, as long as I’m moving forward, finding little ways to counter the negative with positive, that’s all I can really ask for.
7:30 P.M.—INSTAGRAM POST: “I’M SORRY” BY CURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL:
Hi, everyone. This post is hard. I owe you guys a sincere apology. Not just for being MIA. But I’m sorry about my Size Positive campaign. I’m sorry about every time I told you to love yourself ALL THE TIME. I’m sorry about all the times I used words like “body positivity” and “self-love.” Basically, I’m apologizing for my entire platform up until now.
I am no longer an advocate for terms like “body positivity” and “self-love.” And here’s why:
Growing up as a chubby half Asian girl, I never saw myself reflected in the media as an object of affection or beauty. I didn’t conform to societal standards of beauty. I wasn’t supposed to love myself.
And then it was like a switch. The term “body positivity” was everywhere. Suddenly, popular brands that previously only used size-zero, airbrushed models were using curvier women in their ads. Curvy blondes were telling me I needed to LOVE MYSELF and everything would be okay. That I wasn’t allowed to have any ounce of self-doubt, ever.
Of course, loving yourself is the ultimate goal. I’m not saying not to love yourself if you do (seriously, I respect that so much). But this concept takes longer for some. It’s a lifelong journey. I hate this onus on people whose bodies don’t conform to society’s standards to change the perception that’s been drilled into our heads. Suddenly, it’s not socially acceptable to feel bad about yourself, ever.
I’m sorry, but I can’t say I love every roll and all my cellulite all day, every day. At the same time, I don’t need to self-loathe and hate myself either. It’s about accepting and respecting yourself, while realizing there is so much more to you than just your body.
Things are going to change on my account. I’m still going to be offering my programs, doing workout tutorials, etc. But my message will be different. You will no longer see the comment section in some of my posts. Instead, I made a private Facebook group for all my clients and vetted followers to congregate.
I really hope you guys will join me in my new group and follow along for the ride.
Crystal
Comment by trainerrachel_1990: I love this!! You’re so right. We’re taught to hate anything that’s not society’s beauty standard, and then at the same time, we’re being told to suck it up and love it anyway and made to feel bad about it.
Comment by fitnessgoalsbymadison: Wow. This message is so powerful. I’m along for the ride with you.
Comment by gainz_gurlie: Crystal this is amazing!!!! I’m so glad you’ve embraced body respect.
Comment by DarcyChapman12: I miss your posts. I hope you’re back for good?