From Book Nerd to Gym Girlie
By Abigail Zajac, 21, Missouri
I was an asthmatic child, prone to wheezing and walking instead of running laps around the gymnasium during P.E. I could never quite master the 10-minute mile and failed to have the hand-eye coordination required for most athletic endeavors. This combined with my propensity to stuff my nose in any book placed in front of me made me a book nerd. It wasn’t so much of an official title, in fact, I have no memory of it ever being said aloud. It was understood that at family barbecues I would be reading a novel bigger than my head while my cousins played volleyball. If we were on a family vacation at the beach, I would be curled up by the water with a tall stack of books.
So, it should be quite obvious why it never occurred to me before to start weightlifting. I went to the gym for the first time during the worst summer of my life. I had to quit my first office job due to sexual harassment, my apartment was infested with mold, and I was having random episodes of violent coughing fits that left me unable to breathe. Physically and mentally, I felt like I was in the La Brea Tar Pits.
A recent friend who was stuck in a similar situation told me she wanted to start going to the gym again. In high school, she was a field hockey player, and I always admired the leftover strength in her body from it. Boredom pushed me to go with her. In the cloying heat of summer there wasn’t much else to do but work out or spend money, and neither of us had extra cash to burn. I would like to pretend that I went in ponytail high, hydrated, in a matching workout set with a list of exercises I was going to do, but that was far from the truth. I went in wearing an old t-shirt I got for free from the dining hall my freshman year and a pair of sneakers I wore to band camp, slightly malnourished and greasy looking. Though my friend was equally as unconfident, she attempted to dredge up memories from her field hockey days as she showed me how to do some squats and rows with free weights. We spent most of the time gossiping and everyone else shot us dirty looks.
My friend moved after the summer, but I continued going to the gym without her. I found myself craving movement and exertion at the end of the day. But I had another reason to keep going, one of more importance. I was tested and my doctor told me I was having asthma attacks again, partially psychosomatic. So, I started running on a treadmill. It was barely running, more like a fast walk, but I was still wheezing by the end of it. I felt like I was in gym class again, my body randomly giving out on me mid-stride, having to stop everything to go use an inhaler. Of course, my doctor told me to keep going, for the physical benefits of course, but also the mental ones. Reduce your stress was the mantra. Lower the caffeine, increase physical activity, breathe more.
But breathing was so hard.
I eventually confessed my habit to my boyfriend, embarrassed. Somehow feeling like he would see the chubby girl with red cheeks being picked last for dodgeball and laugh. Like he would see the futility in my efforts as much as the voice in my head did. But he didn’t. He encouraged me, gave me tips when I asked, and called me strong. But I hated it all. His favorite thing to do was call me “gym girlie”. Each time the nickname came up I would visibly cringe and insist that I was not because in my head I was a book nerd. A book nerd couldn’t be a gym girlie. I resisted the new label, something so sweet, silly, and endearing, because it went against every part of the identity I had created for myself.
Despite my aversion to the label, I continued to embody it, upgrading gyms, researching workout routines and tips for building muscle, even scheduling a session with a personal trainer. The more I learned about building muscle the more I wanted to maximize my workout potential. I started eating and sleeping better, and had more energy; I was physically and mentally able to do more in a day. It became the opposite of most things in my life. The more energy I put in, the more benefits I got out of it, so I started adding running into my routine, going to the gym four days a week instead of three, and drinking protein shakes.
Dancing between sets, testing new equipment, I became comfortable at the gym, even asking people to teach me the exercises they were doing. Soon enough the owner knew me by name and working out was my favorite part of the day. I was still in partial disbelief. It was almost like my inner self did not want to believe what my outer self was doing.
At my request, Christmas presents became gym bags and workout clothes. My family was shocked after years of gifting books and art supplies. I smiled and thanked them, assuring them that it was perfect and just what I wanted. Putting their gifts to use, I set higher goals. My goal for a ten-minute mile became a 5k. Bench pressing the bar became bench pressing two plates. The desire for stronger arms and a bigger butt became a desire for functional strength and core stability.
I felt like a new person in a sense. It wasn’t that I was no longer asthmatic, but my lungs were stronger. It wasn’t that there was less stress in my life, but I had a new way to manage it. I learned that there is room for my identity to roam between the pages of a book, but also between the barbells at the gym. The only thing I needed to change was permission from myself.
Inspiration: This piece is a reflection of my journey. I think a lot about stereotypes, especially how they impact young people. I wanted to write about my internal journey breaking down stereotypes to allow others to know that it is okay to change your mind when presented with new information.
X: @AbigailZajac
