Stealing the Ball

When I was a girl, my family would spend summers at Chautauqua. (They all still do, while I’m chained to my desk). The kids would all go to Club, where we would while away the days playing variations of classic American sports: bennis (baseball & tennis combined), cricket, dodgeball, etc. Inevitably, in every one of these games, a pumped-up boy would lunge himself in front of a very capable girl, just moments before she was to catch the ball. Having no confidence in her abilities, he would try to ‘save her’ and steal some glory for himself. Of course, the cocktail of velocity & adrenaline almost certainly resulted in a fumble. Whereas the girl was perfectly in place for a solid catch, the boy’s hubris would force a loss.

I re-learned this lesson as a teen as well. I remember very distinctly, in high school, beginning to answer the teacher’s question. Invariably, a boy would butt in, effectively cutting me off. In college, I raged against this (and became a bit of a strident feminist along the way). I would fight for my turn to speak, and if I was cut off, I would interrupt. It felt good to be able to stand up for myself. After all, I had a brain and I deserved a chance to use it.

Then I moved into a field with very little male ego… fashion. Sure, there’s ego, but it’s not mixed with testosterone and a desire to constantly jockey for position. My feminism settled into a nicely encapsulated “men & women are equal” party line. I slowly forgot those early hard lessons. (Plus, I started wearing 5 inch heels so everyone would have to pay attention to me!)

Last night at the gym, I was reminded of the incredible irrationality of the male ego. I work out at one of those classic old school gyms where you rack the machine weights yourself. It’s underground and massive and everyone pretty much ignores each other. (Coming from the SoHo Equinox which is basically a pick-up joint, this was a welcome repose). I walked in last night around 10 pm, expecting it to be mostly empty. It is. I’m the only woman in the gym of six men. I bee-lined for the leg press machine, intending to bang out a quick leg rotation and be on my way home. The machine had 100 lbs on each side. I started to slide one 50lb weight off the right side, and was about to place it on the ground, when I hear a man get up from his machine behind me and approach.

“I can help with that”. I survey him up & down. The man is about 50, in jeans, and only hopes he could be my height.

“No, I’ve got it” I reply.

“I insist, after all I was just using it. I should’ve unracked it.”

I acquiesce, and stand by as he slowly lifts one 50lb off one side. He asks me how much I usually press. I said, “It’s been a while, but I’ll start with 100, thank you.”

He counters, “Why don’t we start you off with just the bar?”

My mouth just about drops to the floor. Just the bar? Just the bar?!!? If I can’t lift 100 with both legs then I wouldn’t be able to support my own body weight. Who does he think I am? Some little girl who doesn’t know her way around a gym?

I’m incensed. I say, “No, I want 100.” He looks at me patronizingly.

“Please stop, I don’t need your help,” I say as I move toward the machine. He goes back to his sad little calf raises as I lower myself into the machine. I am fuming. I can’t believe some old man has the balls to tell me I can’t lift what I think I can. It’s not even that much weight. I’m practically 6 feet tall and I’m a mesomorph. I am strong & capable. It’s very important for me as a woman to be physically capable. I like to walk around the city with confidence that I can handle myself in most situations. But I am so angry at this exchange, I end up pumping out a few too many reps. It’s a miracle I was able to even walk home. I knew I would have to settle for flats in the morning.

Still, it was worth it to prove that man wrong. Later, a male friend of mine elucidated the exchange for me. Apparently, the old guy was embarrassed that I was about to lift half of what he was lifting. His fragile ego couldn’t handle the thought so he did what guys do best when faced with a threat; he stumbled in and tried to "steal the ball".

The male ego: puffs up like a big balloon… and pops just as easily.

I’m just tired of tiptoeing around it.

*scorpio*