Muscles and looks

I conquered my fear of the free weight room at the Y. That bastion of testosterone, realm of muscled men, was no match for me as I marched in with what feminine pride I had, holding my head high in spite of my inability to lift no more than a fraction of what they could benchpress.

They grinned at each other and looked askance at me as I settled in to do sit-ups, and I realized that I was not leery of them so much as I was of being in a strange place and not knowing what to do with myself while those initiated into the mysteries of free weights could plan their workouts with ease.

I finished and, sitting up, noticed that they spent as much time standing in front of the mirror as they did actually working out. I didn't feel so awkward after all--if guys with thick cords of muscle, at the height of their fitness, still need to look in the mirror and reassure themselves of their appearance, then there's hope for the rest of us.