JOURNAL: The V Monologue (you know what I mean!)

I have reached a milestone.

Koreans: 2 (the boob thing...twice)
Emerald Lady: 3 (the boob thing twice, and tonight...score!)

Last night I was thoroughly discouraged when I went to my workout. Things had gone bad at work (dumb parent complaint that I got blamed for), I was tired and fractious from rowdy children all day, and I got thoroughly reamed in the stretch class. The trainer seems to think that by just screeching "back straight! back straight!" that I can do it while contorting in weird positions. You see, Koreans don't believe in disability or difficulty doing things; you get the way you are because you are lazy, or worse, a "baby" (highest Korean insult next to S.O.B.).

My body doesn't look any different, though the scale says I have lost a kilo (about 2 lbs in three weeks). This is pathetic. The trainer appears to think I am not working hard enough. The truth is I am screaming in my head at every thump of my shoe hitting the pedal "You are fat! You deserve this! Lazy ass! Get moving! That's it! Jiggle a little faster!" There is no "beautiful" left in me, so why am I even trying? Because I never give up without a fight, that's why. I will conquer this flabby piece of blubber that some call a body even if it kills me....and it just might.

You see, sometimes, it seems like a punishment to be there. My muscles ache, I get acne from the sweat (though the yellow dust storms from China aren't helping), and I look like a pregnant tomato in the gym uniform (remember that I said orange and grey are not my colors). I snap at everyone who tries to help me on the other hand. John is a nice guy, but very me-man you-woman you-listen. He gets annoyed when I try to argue. I don't think he likes me much, as he has been avoiding me lately. Not that I have been very pleasant lately either.

Tonight I made an effort to be pleasant, but I found myself being negative again so I clammed up. The mess at work is continuing, but will be cleared up by Monday...I hope. Stretch class went ok, and I took John aside. I politely requested to change from cross-trainer, which I hate, to treadmill, which is dull but reliable. Surprisingly he agreed, after expressing a little concern over my tricky knee. We are trying it out for awhile to see what happens. The treadmill also has a tv screen, best of all! It is cleverly angled so that to see it correctly you have to be aligned correctly! I did a total of 1:20 of cardio plus a 40 minute stretch class. I do this 4 times a week for 3 weeks, and all I get is 2 pounds off for good behavior? Ridiculous!

With something new to do at last, I began putting more effort into it. The treadmill is, of course, automatic, so I can't slack off. I really began to sweat this time. I was so sticky afterwards that I decided to conquer my fear of public showers. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

I must digress a little. Of course, no American woman likes to be naked in front of other women because we are hypercritical of each other. Anyone who has ever suffered through middle school gym class knows this. I used to get teased, get this, for being too thin! I got called "anorexic," "the wall," and "skinny" (hate that word more than fat). I always undressed under a towel, but inevitably, some body
parts poked out for criticism. And they did criticize.

Koreans are no different. The reason this doesn't matter as much to them is that they are raised by being endlessly criticized and pushed by their parents. "Do you want to be stupid?" parents often say. Or, "Don't you want to go to Harvard/Stanford/Princeton?" This applies to bodies also. I see quite a number of overweight children in the gym. I have some roly-polies in my classes as well. The Korean sense of humor, unfortunately for hapless foreigners, stems from things people do that are out of the norm. "Haha, you wear a headgear! Haha you have a big belly. Haha, you are not good in geometry!"

Unlike in America, where kids are psychoanalyzed (Why does he keep eating? He must be making up for some lack. Do his parents love him enough?), Koreans take a pragmatic approach. They send their children to the gym or taekwondo academy and cut down the children's eating habits. Kept on a traditional Asian diet, the kids stay thin (Asians appear to have a lightning-fast metabolism). The snack food craze is causing the problems in the other direction. Koreans aren't particularly candy-crazy (except for chocolate), but they do like their potato chips (and squid chips, and freezedried French fries).

To get back to my main point...I decided that, while I was down, I certainly couldn't fall any further. Sweaty, exhausted, smelly, and desperate for cleanliness, I entered the locker room. Fortunately, it was very empty. When I was certain no one was looking, I peeled my sticky clothes off, and, after a minute's hesitation, peeled them ALL off. Forcing myself to breath naturally, I padded over to the laundry bin, and dumped them in. I grabbed a tiny pink towel, and entered the communal shower.

The room was filled with busy ajumas. So that's where everyone was! I stood under a spigot, and tried to figure out the water works. It took a few tries, but I got the hang of it. I glanced around, and saw that what I took to be a towel was actually a particularly brutal fom of washcloth. The material was very rough and nappy, like the cheap, Kmart variety in the U.S. I observed a rather corpulent ajuma soaping up the pink towel, and SCRUBBING her body, like she was doing the laundry by the scrub and tub method. She began at the top and methodically worked her way down, presumably to slough off dead skin. I have, of course, HEARD of an "ajuma scrub" from the foreigners who frequent saunas, but I had never seen it done before. I have been told that sometimes they will begin doing it, unbidden, to other women, including foreigners.

I soon noticed that every one was doing this. I winced as I saw two women pass the towels THROUGH their legs and scrub very roughly (think flossing) in a very delicate area....well, I reasoned, probably no worse than drunk husbands with bad aim... or childbirth. But OUCH!

I stuck to my Western ways with a plain old bar of soap and a good rinse. No one bothered me and I didn't bother anyone. I think if someone had offered to scrub my back, I might have even taken it. They were saggier and baggier than me, after all.