The Second Look

So, I went to the exercise room in a hotel for the first time. I found a machine where I could do two exercises, one was to take hold of a bar from on high and pull it down, this motion lifted a preset weight on the machine. The other, on the same machine, was pulling a bar straight towards oneself thus lifting the same weights. I set the weights too low the first time, then went way too high couldn't even move it ... feeling like a Goldilocks good at adaption, I found one that was just right. Let's define, 'just right' as a piece of equipment that I could pull into and use from a distance, I would pull to me at a couple of different angles rather than straight down. I couldn't get on it, but I could get near it, and that would have to be enough. So sitting in my wheelchair, I did three sets of 10 on each one and then was tired out.

But here's what I wanted to tell you.

These rooms have mirrors everywhere. I had been so focused on the machine and pulling the bar down or , that I didn't notice there was a mirror right beside me. I just did the work. I enjoyed it because it was different from anything I'd done before, and the room stayed empty so I had privacy, so I didn't feel rushed, I didn't feel on display.

Then.

I noticed the mirror beside me.

It was a big mirror. It covered the wall. I saw all of me, I saw my chair, my body, my arms lifted and pulling on the weights. I saw my size. I saw everything. ALL OF IT.

I became immediately embarrassed.

I looked ridiculous, silly even.

I became a little angry at myself, what the hell did I think I was doing.

I don't belong here.

Then.

I looked again. And saw a fat guy in a wheelchair lifting weights in a gym and thought ...

good on him.

Sometimes, you've got to take a second look.