Bob Harper and Me

When I first started teaching full time, one of my students asked me how old I was. Everyone in the class, wide-eyed, stared at him like he was insane. Someone whispered, “Dude, you don’t ask ladies that question.” I didn’t want to answer him, not because I was afraid of sounding old, but because I knew that some of my students were older than me, so I did something I don’t recommend doing if you are sensitive about your age. I told them to guess.

“45?” one of the young women ventured.

“You’re a little off,” I said. I was 26.

“Well, that’s mainly based on how you dress.”

“Let’s move on,” I said, making a mental note to never again let college freshmen guess my age.

How, I wonder, did we become this way. Why are we so weird about our age, amongst other things? Why do we act as though some of us are immune to the passing of time? At 33, I have many students who hover around my age. They bemoan their age, as do, I’ve noticed, students in their mid- to late-twenties, as if there exists some phenomenal difference. Not surprisingly this is mostly from my female students. “I’m so old,” they’ll whimper to me, head in their hands.

“We’re the same age,” I’ll say.

I know what they mean, though: they are “old” for college. This is becoming increasingly less true, but that statistic is not of much interest to them, and I don’t blame them.

We put women in a weird place with age. Duh. Taught to hide our age to remain desirable, yet we ceaselessly mock women who are very clearly trying to mask their age with make-up and surgery. See just about every famous woman ever as an example.

It’s not just age, either, for which we are supposed to feel shame. We aren’t supposed to share our weight, and certainly not our BMI. I had a baby 7 months ago, and let me tell you, my hips do not lie about that. 

Enter Bob Harper.

Bob Harper is my new favorite celebrity trainer. You may have seen him and his sleeve tattoos on The Biggest Loser, a show that borders on voyeuristic. His workouts are the only ones I’ve ever done that, as I described to my sister Rachel, make it look like my whole body is crying because I am sweating so much. It is awful, but it is exactly what I needed, because I saw myself becoming a certain type of person: the person that slowly puts on weight, year after year, convincing herself it’s not that bad, even though she keeps having to buy bigger pants sizes, but she says stuff like, “well, I work out, so I’m probably just putting on muscle…”

I had faithfully been going to the gym 5 days a week for 35 minute workouts, but I wasn’t really working out. I was leisurely riding the stationary bike, listening to poetry podcasts, scrolling through Instagram. I didn’t even get a towel from the front desk to wipe off my sweat, but that’s because I was barely sweating. 

Now I hang out with Bob Harper five days a week from the comfort of my living room doing his ridiculously named workout, Blackfire, while Mae laughs hysterically at me. Watching me do burpees is, I have no doubt, hilarious. This workout is great for me for many reasons. 1.) Little to no equipment required. 2.) $12 a month. 3.) Lots of variation. 4.) Indescribably difficult. 5.) All online so no DVD. 

I’ve been doing it for barely a month and I feel like a triathlete. Like, I want to start an Instragram account for my shoulders. After each workout, I feel unstoppable. 

I weigh 155 pounds. If I knew my BMI, I would tell you that as well. Why does this feel ballsy for me to say? Why do I feel like I could end up on Good Morning America for saying that? “Oklahoma Mom Reveals Weight on Blog, Not Sure About BMI.” 

       Starting a workout is terrible. Especially if you are a woman, it takes awhile to see results, but just hold on, it will happen. I also don’t recommend weighing yourself. (I actually asked Todd to hide our scale from me so I can’t weigh myself. If you saw how small our apartment is, you would realize how amusing this is.) If you’re like me, you need someone to get in your face, which is why I like Bob Harper. No, I love Bob Harper. I like to tell my students I’m the Bob Harper of Freshman Composition. Then they stare at me silently. Reminding me of my favorite student evaluation comment ever: Her jokes aren’t that funny. And, yes, the word “that” was underlined.