After my bar squats and chest presses, I went to do my dead lift. Which was not far away from where my trainer was working with a little boy, who couldn't have been more than 9-11. At one point, while doing my dead lifts (at my 5x5's 115, even though my highest max out on it was last at 195), I looked up and saw them looking at me, the little boy pointing and so assuming my trainer had pointed me out, I waved at the little boy and went back to what I was doing.
Finished and headed home (with a million errands to pick up a credit card, to get to VS for a free offer sent in the mail, to the Dollar Store for altar flowers, Valentines for office people, and pill boxes for my new daily, followed by getting home and sinking straight into konmari-ing the whole of my jewelry).
An hour or so int getting home, and being in my Konmari focus, my trainer left me a text. Relaying that the little boy, who was the son of another of his clients had pointed at me, earlier, himself and said, "Can I be strong like that?"
Even 12 hours late I'm still feeling that. The shock and movement in my emotions, and the differences of what it's like to step outside of myself and try to see myself through someone else's eyes. Someone who wants to believe they could be like me, the way I so longed to be like other people doing this when I used to see them.
I need a weightlifting icon. Hrm.
[This entry was originally posted at http://wanderlustlover.dreamwidth.org/2316747.html. Comment on either at your leisure.]