This is the thing: being a “gym baddie” is hard.
I’m not always willing to go from a day full of classes and work—exhausted from all the calculus problems I wasn’t particularly good at answering or all the “amazing” functional code that I wrote in less than 20 minutes while stuck in a corner of the PCL (that’s sarcasm, of course)—to the crowded, chaotic environment of the gym. It is a place filled with shirtless men dropping barbells while grunting “manly” at their own biceps, and girls who are such high-level baddies, they can read a paperback while maintaining a 7 km/h clip on the StairMaster.
All in all, it’s an intimidating place. When my lovely roomie suggested that part of our New Year’s resolution should be to frequent that horrid establishment, yours truly almost had an aneurysm. I was a hard gal to convince, but eventually, something did. What was it?
Mirror, Mirror on the Wall
I’ll be open with you: I haven’t always been confident in my looks. Specifically, as a dark-skinned, strong-boned, 4C-haired Nigerian woman, I’ve spent a lot of time looking at things about myself I didn’t enjoy. When I say it out loud, it sounds insane. Things about me that I don’t like looking at? In what world am I allowed to disrespect myself like that?
And yet, I did it—shamelessly. I told myself my hair was too wild, my eye bags too dark, my nose too broad, and my lips too big. I fell for the lie that I was “ugly.” And what can fix ugliness, according to that very reliable source of information known as social media? The gym. So yes, when my roomie offered me what seemed to be a form of escape from my insecurities, I fully dove into it.
Y’all Run! Here Comes the “Linebacker”
The beginning of my journey opened doors to insecurities I wasn’t ready to deal with. I’m talking “shower-taking-while-the-fire-alarm-goes-off” type of not ready. It was as if my mind gained arms and decided to throw bricks at my face for “encouragement.”
I began analyzing everything about my body, but one thing in particular truly stood out to me: my arms. Oh, how I hated my “big back, linebacker, Shrek-type” build. Seriously, guys, in my mind, my arms were giant logs attached to my torso, and my biggest fear was making them even bigger. Here I was in a gym, lifting heavy weights and working my triceps, biceps, and all the other “-ceps” located in my limbs, and all I could see was a girl who was failing. Instead of doing the “required” cardio for a snatched waist and big butt, I was convinced I was working out to look like a “gigantic man.”
Yeah, I said it. Truly my worst fear. I didn’t want to become a big, muscular woman. Because that’s wrong, right? It would make me even uglier…right?
The Moment of Clarity
That’s when my roommate decided to put some sense into me. It was as if my girl took a 45 lb plate, aimed it at my head, and knocked me out just so I could wake up in a world of logic.
Because I was wrong. Oh, so wrong. And I’m not trying to invalidate my insecurities here; what I felt at the time was extremely real. I couldn’t wear tank tops or tight shirts without thinking about how absolutely massive I looked in the mirror. How manly. But in the midst of that insecurity, my roommate asked me a question that made me reevaluate the beauty standards of our society:
“Why can’t women be Big and Muscular?”
And yeah, why can’t we? Why is our society’s beauty standard a big butt, a snatched waist, a huge bust, and a delicate frame all in one nice, pink-bowed package? Why can’t I be strong like a linebacker or as muscular as my father? Why is “beautiful” synonymous with “weak”?
That was the question I needed to ask myself. I stopped looking at the standards of society and realized that I didn’t need to program my body to fit a societal “code”; I needed to rewrite the program to fit me. I am a Nigerian woman—a descendant of warriors and fighters who traversed arid terrain and thrived under a scorching sun. Why shouldn’t I be proud of a body that represents that heritage? Why shouldn’t I celebrate the strength that was literally woven into my DNA?
So yes, being a gym baddie is hard. But it’s even harder when you’re trying to use the gym as a tool to shrink yourself into a mold you were never meant to fit.
Be a gym baddie for your own body. Own the strength of your bone structure and the magic of the skin woven over the muscles and tendons that make you, you. Be a strong, muscular queen. Because honestly? Why wouldn’t you?