i’ve never been an especially muscl-ey sort of person. Well, not exactly. Since i was always around the six foot two mark and appropriately muscled for my size, i guess i wasn’t exactly a weakling.
About ten years back, i did a little bit of weight training – it was sort of what i did in order to earn a half hour in the jacuzzi and a massage down at the local bizarro health and fitness centre in Letchworth.
This, for anyone more used to the luxuries of modern centres, was all “on-a-shoestring” stuff, with weights that had a tendency to occasionally detach (i once lifted about 200 kg for some reason and the steel wire on the machine snapped: luckily, nothing collapsed towards me, else i guess i could have been seriously injured).
It was fitness for those who didn’t want to try too hard, with a lounge to which the exercisers were able to retire after exercising to smoke and consume pie and chips – i kid you not!
Anyway, at that time i guess i developed some things that felt like muscles…was pushing about 120kg off arms…and 300kg off legs, which is part muscle, part leverage (the taller and longer-limbed you are, the greater the advantage you have at arm-wrestling).
And a couple of years back, overweight and unfit as i was, i had no real trouble pushing the lawnmower round the garden.
Fast forward to this morning and a plaintive cry of: where have all the muscles gone?!
A year-plus into hormones and either the lawnmower has started to seize up, or i have. That was difficult. Decidedly so. It was even difficult getting the beast started (pulling sharply on a chord until it coughed and splutttered into life).
Even though i am probably far fitter, from a cardio and weight perspective than i have been in twenty or thirty years.
So. In one sense, a victory for feminisation. Lawn-mowing must now join stuff like furniture moving and taking the lids off jars as an activity i may be requiring slightly butcher help for.
Do i mind? No, not really. It would be nice if girls were naturally big and strong…but then, if we were, we wouldn’t be quite so girly.
(And no: that’s not diving into stereotype. Just an acknowledgment that muscle redistributes when you feminise…and mine appears to have spent the last year doing just that).
Hurrah! Sort of.