The Gym: Terror or Confidence

       
 After school, one day this semester, I was motivated to go to the gym. I was encouraged to go to the student recreation center, the name a college gives a gym in the hope that more students will come to it, after a physical fitness class I took and also because I needed some gym time. Nonetheless, I found myself at the entrance to the place where one can find judgment, but also hope and confidence. Because I am not willing to look for help, I am a struggling strong willed individual, I began to assert an air of confidence the moment I entered the building. I assumed such an air because, after a certain incident, I have found that generally the gym staff will not come up to you if you act like you understand what you’re doing. If this means pretending that I am writing something down on a piece of paper as I try to read the weight lifting machine instructions, then so be it. Anyway, after checking in at the front desk, I grabbed a towel and headed to the girls side of the gym, the treadmill side. I generally make sure to grab a towel every time, because I tend to perspire more than most girls when I exercise, so a towel helps the gym personnel know that I am not going to contaminate the gym machine with my sweat. (As a side note: The first day I went to this gym I was asked, in a judgmental way, if I wanted a towel, as perspiration was running in streams off of my skin.) So, as I assumed my position on the girl’s side of the gym, I couldn’t help notice how toned most of the girls were and how natural they looked as they ran for thirty minutes. Their where in perfect momentum and their heads hardly moved as they turned the pages of their books or switched songs on their I-pods. In stark contrast, I run in an awkward manner, I have a hard time with coordination, I sweat profusely, and my face tends to get extremely red- a family characteristic. Due to the above, I end up looking like an uncoordinated, out of shape person, who is about to have a heart attack at the age of nineteen. To say the least, this seems to draw the attention of the individuals exercising next to me, although this may just by my imagination. I say this because it seems like my fellow exercisers heads turn too frequently to observe me and I always get this sort of concerned look by passer by’s when my face gets red. Anyway, after exercising for thirty minutes on the girl’s side of the room, I moved over to the boy’s side so that I could do some weight lifting exercises, it is my goal to be able to lift a cooler without getting tired- an ample goal. When it comes to the men, I generally only see one or two in the cardio section of the gym, but I do see about fifteen or so in the weight section, or men’s section. I had never really understood this, but after much research, I have found that men feel a certain confidence when they can lift a lot of weight. So, it seems that men feel that working your heart is not as important as working your arms. On the flip side, due the over population of men, rarely do any women cross the invisible line to the men’s side of the room, unless it has to do with leg weights. Therefore, only a brave few build up enough courage to go over to the “other side.” As I made my way over to the “other side” and tried out my first machine, I could not help but notice the unbelieving stares. After using my tactic of writing something down while reading the instructions, I climbed onto the machine and prayed that I was doing it right. Thankfully, during this gym period, there was no impromptu instruction time and I left to await another day. My only hope is that someday my face will stop turning red while I exercise, but I guess it is just another lesson in become less self conscious. So, it seems that for now, the gym is a place that I fear but also that holds much hope of strength and confidence, that is if I go again…

Airport Security ( The Experience No One Wants to Write About)

As is common in the Smith household, I was standing in a security line at the airport the other day, excited about my trip to AZ and feeling a strange sense of accomplishment in not forgetting any of my belongings, for once. In front of me my sister, generally a light packer, stood putting her suitcase, an overflowing backpack, and a purse onto the conveyer belt, to the dismay of the security personnel. (The  airport my family and I where departing from was especially small, so the thirty or so people who were in line this particular morning  were overwhelming to the security workers.)  As I placed my suitcase, delicately within the square perimeter of the conveyer belt, I began to dread all of the clothes I knew I would have to shed to get through security line but, always a humble soul, I was proud of how well I handled such a line.  As many can attest I conform well to the security rules. While most individuals do not even pay attention to the little white and red signs in the security line I make sure to read, highlight, and study them in my mind. I claim every liquid, make sure I wait before being called through the scanner, and always put forth an innocent demeanor. On this particular day I had made sure that all of my three once liquids where in a baggy and, once out of my suitcase, where place in a separate security container than the rest of my belongings. Ahead of me I noted that my sister did not conform to any of these standards as her philosophy was “they can see the liquids when they go through the scanner so there is no need to claim them.” Unlike her, I had a healthy fear of the airlines ever since they confiscated my first kindergarten scissors when I was seven. After such an overwhelmingly traumatic event, I had always taken special pains to conform to the security rules in order to avoid going through uncomfortable checks and confiscations of precious items. Even after putting my liquids on the conveyer belt though, I was asked“ Do you have any liquids in your bag mam?” Although the question was strange I did not think anything of it because I was so focused on the security man in front of me who had said “next” and was ushering me through the scanner. Apparently the word “next” has a powerful meaning in the security line because depending on how quickly one responds to word the security man can either develop a great respect for you or can become quite agitated. As I was already doing quite well in the security line I decided to react fairly quickly, holding out my boarding pass as I made my way through the scanner. But as he took one look at it I knew I was doomed, because without looking up he motioned to a girl security guard and sent me to the corral, gate, chamber, or any other negative connotation one wants to use to describe the area where the airport personnel scan or humiliate one further, as if taking off one’s shoes was not enough. Although at first such a gesture shocked me, the sympathy of another fellow traveler comforted me and may be feel, if  for just one brief second,  that not all was lost. “Those are cute sox!” said the brave pilgrim, “Where did you get them?”  But the feelings of conform and safety where lost as I noticed the smirking faces of my family as they waited for me on the other side of the corral. Also, out of the corner of my eye I noticed movement from a woman in her early thirty’s. She was a rather pretty woman but due to her manly police outfit, and slicked backed hair, she looked rather harsh as she came towards me from across the room. I was relieved to find she was not carrying a wand but none the less was expecting some sort of humiliation; after all I was in a quarantined area in the middle of the security line. “Put out your hands.” the woman said in a gruff voice and without a word of greeting. “Sure!” was my overly generous comment. After looking them over, and without any eye contact, she wiped them and told me she would be right back. After putting the wipe into a machine, she came back with the shocking results “You’re clean. You don’t have any drugs on your hands.” And so without a word of apology I was ushered out of the corral, in my sox, to await the comments and “compassion” of my family. Although, the above scene was not too demoralizing, compared to what I’ve gone through before, it was a shock because my twin sister, who never claims anything in terms of liquids, computers, or batteries, was not pulled aside. Not only was she not pulled aside on this trip, she almost never has been pulled aside and one time was even able to sneak a foot long knife onto a flight home from Africa! On the other hand I who claim everything and studies the security rules, gets pulled over for things such as putting too many batteries, three batteries, into a small space, my entire purse.  Although, I know I will never get any recognition for all that I go through to conform to the standards I guess there is some sort of pride that comes from realizing that no matter what you do you will always get pulled over in a security line. So, if you where planning on going with me on the “Amazing Race” you might want to reconsider and take my sister instead; I mean least of all she would get you through the security line.  

Working with Cactus

Recently I went on vacation to Arizona, with my family. Since I normally live in the south the cacti where quite interesting to take photos of. It is amazing that such a plant can be so beautiful but at the same time dangerous. I hope you enjoy the pitcutres, and feel free to leave comments! Enjoy.