Broken Girl

One moment, I was deep in a dream world, and the next thing I knew, I was being woken up by someone shaking me. I open my eyes to see my mom in workout clothing, looking ready to leave the house. “Geneva, how about you get dressed and go to cycling class with me?” I groggily agree and stumble out of bed to throw on leggings and an oversized T-shirt. Too tired to care what I look like, I throw my hair in a messy bun. Stepping out of the house, warm humid air hits me. It is a dreary summer morning in late June. The skies are coated in a thick grey sheet of cloud as far as the eye can see. 

As we get into the car and start driving, I begin to think about what I had just agreed to do. I have only been to a gym a handful of times and have never done a class. I’m not very active and feel incredibly out of shape. Walking across the parking lot, I feel a pit in my stomach, and it only grows as I step through the entrance doors. After paying for a one-day pass, we walk past rows of exercise machines with athletic-looking men and women using them. My mom opens a door, and as I walk in my eyes adjust to a small dark room with purple lighting. It is filled with exercise bikes of different sizes. I see a small, stage-like contraption with a single bike and a very fit woman. She was wearing a mic, so I assume she is the coach. The woman welcomes us into her class with an energetic smile. As we find our bikes, looking around, I see 12 other people, all much older than my 16-year-old self. My anxiety spikes as I prepare the bike for riding. The room is filled with small talk and conversation, but everyone quiets once the music starts playing. 

The coach, getting on her bike, starts the class. With an upbeat attitude, she gives words of encouragement. She is smiling ear to ear, and you can tell this job exhilarates her. I anxiously try to copy every movement she makes. Only five minutes in, and sweat is dripping down my face. Her speed goes up, and so does mine. I start feeling sharp pains in my lungs. My throat begins to feel as if it has gone completely dry and is closing in on itself. I push through the pain, thinking that I can’t fail. It feels as if I am suffocating. My stomach is twisting, and I know I am going to be sick. 

I slow down and stumble off the bike. Grabbing my water bottle, I stagger out of the room and bolt to the bathroom. I swing open a stall door, not even taking the time to close and lock it before I throw up. Sitting on the bathroom floor, I stare at the toilet while tears stream down my face. That tight feeling is still in my lungs like I can't breathe.  All I can think is, “What is wrong with me?”

After what feels like hours, I pick myself up off the floor, flush the toilet, and look at my surroundings. The bathroom is massive and full of many stalls, showers, lockers, benches, and a long mirror. In the mirror, I see a girl. The girl looks broken, with bags under her eyes. She never stops crying as we stare at each other. She looks as if there were years worth of pain and tears on her face. That girl spent years hating her body and never felt like she would look good or be skinny. That day, we were supposed to be doing something to change our body, but as always, we failed.

I start to hyperventilate, and I can’t see straight. I stumble over to the benches, and sitting down, I knew it would be impossible to get up again. I sob loudly, not caring if anyone was around. I am never going to be good enough for the girl in the mirror. Snot and tears start to mix as they roll down my face. 

I hear someone coming around the corner, and my eyes meet with an older woman I had seen in class. “Are you okay, dear?” She asks me with a sympathetic look on her face.

I nod, somewhat embarrassed about my pathetic appearance. I watch her disappear into a stall to return with a couple of sheets of toilet paper.  I give her a grateful half-smile while wiping my face. 

Looking into my eyes as if she could see my soul, she says. “You did a great job in there and should be proud of yourself.” Smiling sweetly at me, she walks away as my mom runs towards me. I leave the gym completely embarrassed but thankful for the small words of kindness. They are exactly what I need to hear on this grey, dreary morning.