Scenes From The Y

Today as I walked into the local YMCA where I work out, I found myself behind a woman of gargantuan proportions. Her calves were the size of small countries and her arms stuck straight out from her body. BUT....She was there. She was going. She was working out. I figure she gets buckets of points for that. I don't have quite as far to go and I get discouraged and find excuses for not working out, etc. I admire someone who has a trek ahead of them and is up to the challenge.

On the other side of the spectrum was a lady whom I see often. The best way to describe her, really, is a skeleton with skin. It's grotesque. She's on a cardio machine when I get there, and she's on when I leave (usually in the neighborhood of an hour and a half, give or take). Her hair is very thin, held back in a clip, exposing bones I never knew a body had. She looks like a moving ironing board. Her rib bones extend beyond her breasts, which are nonexistent really (can I say "breasts" here?). She has no derriere to speak of, not a curve in sight. Something's very wrong, and it seems almost like aiding and abetting to let her work out hour after hour. It makes me hurt to watch her, and I just hope that she isn't killing herself.

I think I fall somewhere in between those two.