Not My Tribe

I originally titled this post "I Just Can't Stand Most Of The Women At My Gym," but decided after the fact that this was probably a bit harsh.  It's probably better to say that they are just so unlike me that there is absolutely no common ground as far as I can tell.  I have a tough time with most large groups of women in general, actually.  Just can't take them.  Sorry to say that about my own gender, but it is what it is.  There's only so much superficiality and high-pitched squealing (and cattiness) I can handle.

Tried taking some classes (step, etc) when I first joined the health club about four years ago.  When I noticed that I was the only one in the room not sporting impeccably styled hair, full makeup and fancy workout clothing, it became clear to me that I probably wasn't in the right place.  For the next three years, I cheerfully bypassed the classes and went directly to the gym area downstairs, where I could use the weight machines, treadmill or elliptical in peace, far from the snooty stares of the decorative types on the first floor.

It was only after my sons started taking taekwondo a year ago that I was lured back upstairs.  What they were doing looked like fun, and I'd been told that there were adult classes a couple of mornings a week.  Happily, but probably not surprisingly, I quickly discovered that the kind of women who enjoy kicking and punching the crap out of things for exercise are a totally different breed, and much more my tribe.  In this bunch, hair and makeup aren't nearly as important as proper technique, and camaraderie (in the form of higher belts working with lower belts, and lots of laughs while doing so) is the name of the game.  Got hooked immediately and have never looked back.  A year later, I am getting ready for my third belt test, which should be next week if I don't bang things up too horribly between now and then.

The problem, of course, is my knee.  My proverbial Achilles heel.  Three months post-surgery, it is still not completely right, and may never be.  Kind of hard to do the sort of pivoting and twisting required on a bum knee, and according to the orthopedic surgeon, the only hope for it is to do some serious leg-strengthening exercises.  So I spent part of my morning today on an exercise bike.  While changing in the locker room, I was subjected to a conversation that drove me completely nuts, all delivered in breathy high-pitched tones:

"It's so good to see you!"  **hugs and air kisses**

"You look so good!  Have you lost weight?"

"No, and I can't even fit into any of my regular clothes because I spent too much time partying at the beach this summer, but you are so sweet to say that!  You look so good too.  I love the new highlights in your hair!"

"You have to try so-and-so at BigFancySalon...he just works wonders with my hair.  I don't like the manicurists there, though...they gossip too much.  I get my nails done at OtherFancySalon instead."

And on and on.  I escaped as soon as I could.

Maybe those women have other lives in which they are doctors or lawyers or pharmacists, butchers or bakers or candlestick makers or anything useful to society.  Maybe they are taking a much-needed break from raising their autistic children, or in training for a race that raises funds for cancer research.  Maybe away from the club they sound less airheaded and talk in a normal register, too, but holy cow--I'm probably never going to be able to talk to one (or hell, even stay in the vicinity of one) for long enough to find out.