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The Daily Wildcat

The Daily Wildcat

 

Letters from Mallory Hawkins

How long did you really think you could keep this charade going? After consistently bringing down my self-esteem for three years, you deserve to be exposed for who you really are — a fake.

So fit and glamorous, you were my workout rock star. Size 8 me yearned to be like size 2 you, to have your perseverance. You could be on the machine long before I arrived and stay on after I left, and still be completely composed and focused on your exercise.

You had me departing the Rec Center hating myself. It was clear to me that in order to become skinny, I would have to compete with one. Once this semester started, I declared war. Knowing that I couldn’t be as glamorous as you, I aimed to be at your level of fitness.

Eager to get the competition started, I hopped on my machine, set the resistance level to 10 and began to do my thing. Once I got into the groove and was feeling good about myself, I looked over to your machine to see how I was doing. Who was burning more calories? Who had a higher resistance?

When I looked over, my only thought was to get off the elliptical and snap your twig body in half. You played me. All of this time I thought you were some workout goddess, but really you were just a phony.

Setting your resistance level to 4 with no incline? You’ve got to be kidding me. All this time you had looked like you were on a walk in the park because you actually were. I don’t care how fast you pedal your legs; no resistance equals no muscle growth.  Suddenly all my admiration and jealousy turned to disgust.

If you weren’t really working out, why go through the trouble of getting ready for the gym? I know it took you hours to get that messy bun just right. Rumor has it you even shower in preparation for the Rec.

Was it to get a muscular gym rat? Take him — you two deserve each other. You can wear matching Nike athletic apparel you bought full price at Nordstrom and keep up your exercise façade. Really, your perfect companion is definitely some homeboy who doesn’t even have the decency to work out his legs. One day he is going to topple over (probably picking up a case of Muscle Milk at GNC) as a result of being completely top heavy, and even though you’ve been at the Rec every day, you won’t have the strength to lift even one of his steroid enhanced arms. At this point, you’ll have the harsh realization that the joke is on you.

So please, do everyone a favor and the next time you are getting ready for the Rec: Don’t. This isn’t a Kim Kardashian workout video; no one wears make-up and jewelry to the gym. I get that you don’t have an ounce of fat on your body. You no longer need to wear your little sister’s volleyball shorts to get the point across.

Despite walking away with thick thighs and a sweat ring around my shirt, I would like to consider this discovery a small victory. While you’re gliding away, burning 20 calories an hour on the elliptical machine and fixing your hair every two minutes, I’ll be engaged in legitimate activity. You’ll see me — sweating, huffing and puffing, hair a mess, the day’s mascara under my eyes — but at least I can feel accomplished.

In the future, rather than going to the Rec, I think your time would be better invested eating a cupcake or something with high fat content. Mix in a cheeseburger. Real men like some curves anyway.

 

­—Mallory Hawkins is a communication senior.

She can be reached at letters@wildcat.arizona.edu.

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