Some of us are just trying to be healthier, have more energy, sleep better at night, not gain more weight, avoid type II diabetes, or some combination of the above. Some of us recently moved from a state where we didn’t have to own a car — because the weather was temperate and everything was close together — and were able to walk or bicycle everywhere; to a state where the rural setting and constant heat/rain/humidity/man-eating insects make that impossible, and the gym is our substitute for not walking/cycling in the course of our everyday lives.
Believe it or not, some people have made their peace with how they look. This is nearly impossible for anyone in the society we inhabit, and it’s doubly so for fat women. When you pat us on the backs while we’re on the treadmill and patronizingly encourage us in our (non-existent) weight loss goals, you’re not only affirming the narrative that we have no right to exist in society the way we look now; you also undermine the years of soul-searching effort it took us to gain inner peace and self-esteem.
Just like you should never assume a fat woman is pregnant until you actually see a baby emerging from between her legs, you should also not assume we are all miserable and desperate to be thin unless we unequivocally say so.
In other gym-related news, I have coined the word “Guideauxs” (Cajun Guidos) and decided that when I am Grand Empress of The Entire Known Universe, cheap clashing man-perfume will be outlawed at all gyms. And there will some kind of non-Guideaux Adult Swim at all Acadiana gyms. (Gyms in New Jersey, New York, and Miami will be allowed to set their own policies vis-a-vis actual Guidos.)