The Gateway. in The Napkin.

As I was heading out of the gym and back to my car, I passed a woman and a medium small boy following her. Because small medium somehow has a different connotation. Made me think “gosh, that’s got to suck, being in the designated kids area while his mom(?) lifts.”

Got me thinking about my dad dragging us to the YMCA every Saturday. But before we get to that. I also saw a woman and her son(?) at a squat rack. One of those moments of “I’m not even sure how this effects what I guessed her age as.”

Gosh, I’m so glad I didn’t have my parents help me lifting. Can you imagine the pressure? Geez! I like my private time at the gym. Last thing you need is some reminder about your OHP form in between being asked to pass the green beans.

Sure, I have issues with my dad, but I also know a number of women who express… similar things about their mom.

Anyway. It is master debatable whether I would have gotten into lifting if I didn’t have repeated access and exposure to the YMCA. What did I do as a kid? Oh, just swim. That’s all. But I knew the cardio room was there. I knew I was too young to enter the scary weight room. (I was also disinterested in both.)

But, the peripheral knowledge that it was there. Why I initially stayed away ranges from disliking sweating, to disliking typical masculine activities, to fearing I wouldn’t be strong enough. Still don’t like sweating, have gotten better embracing any bro-traits I have, and 55 kg me would be astounded at what I’m capable of.

It may entirely be because I was never forced into it. I’m not the only one who would react “you want me to what? Now I EXTRA don’t want to do it” if told to do something by an authority. Rather common. Don’t blink. I dare you not to blink. I ORDER YOU NOT TO BLINK.

Then again, I’m not an authority, ha ha.

But, yeah, access. As childhood transitioned to adulthood, my dad would ask every single Saturday if I’d want to go with him to the gym. Sometimes my sister would go with him. Fair chance he was trying to make the most of the family membership. Maybe a part of me was annoyed at the time. Being all “I said no last week, can’t he take a hint?”

(This is a valid annoyance for some things. I don’t like cantaloupe. That hasn’t changed in 20 years. Just don’t ask if I want any.)

But yeah. Telling your kid to go to the gym will fuck up their brain. Exposing them to the gym, well. That might be the nudge. That kid? Waiting for his mom to get all hot and sweaty? (Mom had MS, so not like that ever would have been part of my childhood.) Might someday wonder “Okay, when can I do the thing I’m not allowed to do?”

As for the very pregnant woman on the leg press, I don’t think this applies to her, ha ha. (Reminder that I wrote a paper on Exercise During Pregnancy - she’s totally being healthy.)

I’m very for having gym k-12, as I did. But who actually enjoyed it? .... Okay, that’s fudging things. I liked floor hockey and volleyball. 55 kg me played goalie, in part because nobody else wanted to. Thankfully never got critical hit in the 5-hole.

I hated wiffleball. I also hate that chrome doesn’t think that’s a typo. Seriously? That’s a WORD?

Anyway. In the words of JP (Egotastic Funtime), that’s all I wanted to talk about today, and I talked about it.