Me. Different Me

My gym visits are sporadic at best. The only time I routinely attended was at 5:00 in the morning.  The bliss of a whole gym glowing, but not bustling was precious and calming. I remember how much I enjoyed working out without distraction.  I would even shower and fix my hair, something I still must force upon myself. I'd glide through my morning and be gone before the first regulars arrived.

I have always hated being anywhere near the gym during classes. I might enjoy the "bumpa-bumpa-bumpa" of the music, but I could not bear the shouting of the instructor. I kept being pulled toward her commands almost as if I believed she was talking personally to me. Nerve jarring. The multitude of jovial chatting women waiting for classes began was a great thing to observe. I could often focus on cataloging them, organizing them. I have quantities of journal entries based on these observations. I think it was less stressful than the shouting instructor because they were far off and less intrusive.

But not always. It's a proximity and volume thing. Sometimes chatting people disorganize me.  It feels as if they are right in my face. Just to be cautious, I seek out the most remote exercise bike, away from the pounding treadmills and gossip factory by the sitting area.

Do you know what else distracts me at the gym? Mirrors.  Same thing when I was a kid.  My folks had mirrored closet doors and anytime I visited with them on their huge California king  bed, I'd stare at myself. "Whoa, look at me would you? I am so hilarious and amazed by myself! Hi! Hi, Lori!" Annnd, then the silly faces began. Mirrors got me more than a few time outs.

Maybe it has to do with faces. We do not have any photographs or representations of faces in our home, save for one hidded shrine to my grandmother. I always feelt that they observe me, it is infinitely distracting and disturbing.

Maybe mirrors got me into trouble not because I recognized myself , but because I felt alien the reflection.  Separate data streams. It's one thing to feel something and quite another to see it reflected visually.  The mirror was a giant puppet. Cause and effect. This smile inside makes that one there. It was so austounding that I could not think of anything else.

Now, I try to avoid mirrors--they invite me  to register every unsavory detail about my unwashed, uncombed self. When did this change? Hmmm. Good question.

At the YMCA, I know I can look away from mirrors. However, my morning gym schedule coincides with the special needs community's and we have some issues there. I embrace diversity, and I am not about to judge or condemn anyone for biological differences. But sitting on my exercise bike, next to a hooting-arm flapper is distracting. Partially because of irony. I am a variety of  hooting arm flapper myself.

Last week, I had the revelation a lifetime while cycling at the Y. "I am a woman with Asperger's," I thought. I knew. I realized!  Such joy surged through me! Involuntarily, I slapped my thighs and let out a whoop as tears started to fall. In an instant, I was back to myself, and looked around to smile at the world. I had startled the aging cyclist next to me. He shifted uncomfortably and would not meet my eager gaze.  Heh. I would have been mortified in the past. I wasn't then. It felt even sweeter, to be me. Different me.