Meet the Glam Squad

The picture that most women have of themselves in their head is of a graceful and delicate angel, one who is capable of handling both their personal and professional life with ease.  Someone who men desire, women aspire to be and children adore. We cling to this idea of our Dream Self with the thought that if we believe it, it must be true.  However no place shines a bright light into all the dark corners of your life more than the gym.  Each January droves of women re-enlist in the health regime that has been mostly abandoned since last winter, and drag themselves back to the House of Health and Torture.  Instantly the inadequacies of your everyday life are on display for the rest of your community.  The gym has designed their world to point out your shortcomings quickly and in a public forum.  However attendance is mandatory, if either to justify the purchase of multiple pairs of yoga pants, or the terrifying thought of the upcoming events that strike fear into the heart of every sane woman: bikini season, friend’s wedding, high school reunion, etc.   

We begin by attending the high-energy choreographed classes with the spunky instructors, only to remember how uncoordinated we really are.  Our clunky feet fail to respond to the many messages our brain sends them – step, pivot, knee, hands, twirl and shake!- leaving the attendees around us to judge how far behind we are on the steps and how unlikely it will be for us to return.  The exercise equipment at large provides no added comfort, the lines of machines and neat rows of weights taunt you, they too can see you are out of your depth.  Your expensive education does not prepare you for knowing what each of these torture devices do, and how they will make you look more like the celebrity currently poised on the cover of Vogue.  At long last we settle for tred mills, stationary bikes and elliptical machines, these simple and repetitive movements are one we learned at an early age and therefore we must be able to repeat them on this contraption.  However the boredom is quick to set in and the cycle continues, the health and fitness world remains one of the most odious places for the majority of the female population.      

That is expect for those women that belong to the Glam Squad.  Every gym must have a group like this, as I am certain my very small town cannot be an exception.  The Glam Squad is comprised of the overly tanned and toned young women who you assume look that way as a result of good breeding, rather than months of sweaty socks and sore muscles.  They troop into the middle of a workout area, their bright and dry outfits complete with designer sports bras peeking out from underneath skin tight tank tops, casually color coordinated to match their sneakers.  The Glam Squad is capable of working out in suggestive poses while carrying on light conversations with one another, seemingly without losing their breath or breaking a sweat.  Their long hair frequently down around their shoulders, grazing their arms and being rearranged as they change activities.  These women are both judged and envied by every other female in the room.  Is it possible that they are that fit through this light-hearted workout?  Have they been genetically altered to not sweat when exerting energy?  While underneath the judgment there is a cord of envy, ultimately everyone must acknowledge that the Glam Squad is there only for looks.  They want the credit of attending, the ability to say they went and brag on Facebook about the number of times they check-in.  

 
Their ultimate goal is not known, however what can they achieve from being so dolled up at the gym?  Hair curled, fresh make-up applied, sipping smoothies near the entrance, one could mistake the front desk for a hostess stand at a local restaurant and the Glam Squad may as well be waiting for their table to be ready.  As much as you want your body to emulate a member of their team, most will admit how ridiculous their behavior is, and label their activities with scorn.  Primping has a place, and it is not side-by-side with my moaning, groaning and unattractive sweating.