Next Phase Fitness, LLC

Butts have been getting all the attention these days, but that’s not everybody’s “part” obsession. Me? I have always had a borderline unhealthy obsession with arm definition. Not just for myself, but it’s also one of the features I’m most attracted to on men. Give me a bicep vein, boulder shoulders and an inverted-V and I am blind to the first 100 red flags. It’s my Achilles tendonitis, what can I say.

I was contemplating what started this obsession recently as I often ask myself “why am I like this” and a couple of memories came sharply into focus.

You know those seemingly mundane moments that you remember years or even decades later? For me, one of those moments was reading a dating profile back in the 2000s when internet dating was new and “fat phobia” wasn’t a concept yet. At the time, I was cycling and running quite a bit and was curious when I came across a profile of someone else in the cycling community. I was fit, but I did not meet his criteria and that moment was instantly seared into my brain that as a young, attractive, athletic woman, I allowed some random stranger on the internet to make me question whether I was worthy of “consideration”.

The summary of his profile went a little something like:

To be considered, you must have defined arms. If your arms are sculpted, I know that you are fit enough to meet my standards and that the rest of your body will also be fit. Don’t bother contacting me if you don’t meet this qualification.”

I think it was the blatant judgement so freely on display that seared it into my permanent memory. But it was not this grotesque display that was the driving force behind a lifetime of chasing arm definition, just a reminder that regardless of my personality or existing fitness level, there could always be a reason I was not good enough. I have had a general pattern of blaming my outward appearance when facing rejection, which is really sad because I have plenty of ugly personal traits worthy of rejection that don’t get their fair share of recognition.

Going a little further back, in my early college days, I got super into kickboxing in a class taught by a former Muay Thai instructor, where we got a more authentic drills and sparring version than the glorified aerobics version. The only moment that topped the bad-ass feeling of getting punched in the head by a German dude while someone pukes in the corner from the sheer exertion of a 2 minute sparring session, was finishing a 50-mile trail ultramarathon at the age of 41. I grew a lot from that experience, but what I did not grow was a pair of defined arms.

Taking it way back, maybe this obsession was inspired by the lingering feeling for the need to be able to defend myself from being bullied relentlessly in middle school. Those days generally consisted of a group of about 8 girls in the grade ahead of me memorizing my class schedule so they could plant themselves in the hallways between classes, murmuring threats in my ear as I walked by and occasionally mixing it up with shouting insults as I moved further down the hall – usually tailored to my body and clothing. I’d close out my days trying to make a run for the bus out the side door before they could gather to chase me, yelling about how they were going to “kick my ass”. No amount of sculpting or kickboxing was going to save me from an 8 on 1 fight, but I bet this had something to do with wanting to learn how to throw a punch.

I have a hunch that growing up in the 90s with the aerobics aesthetic that taught me that my goals should be a “toned” body with small thighs and narrow hips, serving me up “solutions” like Kathy Smith videos and thigh masters did me no favors. I went to my first aerobics class in the 4th grade with my mom and when I asked for help changing out of my sweater due to the kink in my neck the next day in the gym locker room, I got laughed at. Fourth graders were not “into fitness” but it’s clear that I’ve always had a propensity for movement, aesthetic, and injury.

I’m still obsessed with arm definition. I love programming upper body workouts for muscle hypertorphy. I’m obsessed with maximizing muscle gains. Same fitness motivation, different manifestation. I can’t say that it’s not still in some part connected to the influences of my youth, but now it feels like a personal victory, rather than an tool to collect the accolades of external validation.