BUT
Why is it that whenever I go to the gym the skinniest, cutest, perfect hair and make-up, fresh looking woman about my age gets onto the treadmill next to me? Really. Picture me huffing and puffing (and often tripping) as I jog at the pace of an anemic sloth. Next to me, SHE is running with the machine set on a steep incline and I swear her hair looks like a fan from a photo shoot is set up in front of her. My hair (which may or may not have been brushed before I left for the gym) is sticking up around my earphones where it isn’t stuck to my head is sweaty patches. The tee-shirt I have on is nasty and old and probably advertising something that doesn’t exist anymore. The baggy sweatpants do nothing to hide the fact that I’m not a fan of the gym anyway. Her perky little sports shirt has the Nike symbol and the matching shorts fit her perfectly. She runs with the pace of a gazelle and the grace of a ballerina.
I give up and stumble my way off the treadmill.
My mind knows that everyone is struggling with something. I know that nobody has a perfect life but the flashes of jealousy I feel when I look at her make me want to imagine that her problems are as small as her waist. But for all I know she is running so fast and so hard because she is really running from her life. Eeesh. Just typing this makes me feel badly for judging her. I wonder if I should invite her out for an ice cream…..
Probably not.