When my girlfriend and I started dating about three and a half years ago, our shared love of fitness was one of the big things that drew us together. And yes, we’re both pretty hungry in more ways than one.
On our first date we split fajitas.
Fitness and a healthy lifestyle have always been a running theme in our relationship, whether we’re hitting the gym, doing stadium sprints at Harvard on Sunday mornings, visiting local farmer’s markets, or trying to avoid gluten as much as possible.
Funny thing: when we met, Lisa wasn’t a hardcore gym regular. She would go to the gym and follow routines from books or magazines, but they tended to be flashy body-part splits or quick-fix titles like “Tone Your Abs in 17 Minutes” or “Tighten Your Tush by Tuesday.”
To her credit, she grew up in an active family and was encouraged by her dad to lift. She played volleyball all through high school and college, even earning a place in her alma mater’s Athletic Hall of Fame, and she understood how important strength training was for an athlete. Even after college she stayed active and kept weight training as a priority.
When we met in 2009, Lisa was already a popular spin instructor in Boston, and she supplemented that with a training routine that wasn’t focused on heavy lifting. Okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but she didn’t regularly lift heavy weights.
During my courtship of her—dates at Chipotle, Star Wars marathons, and me bringing her containers of protein powder instead of flowers, true story—I’d occasionally go to the gym with her and show her a few new exercises. I also had her read The New Rules of Lifting for Women and did my best to support and educate her along the way.
This wasn’t a damsel-in-distress situation. Lisa knew her way around the gym; I just nudged her toward the squat rack and the deadlift platform.
Needless to say, I think I helped her become a monster—in a good way.
Not to brag, but Lisa routinely deadlifts 1.5 times her bodyweight for reps, can bench press 135 pounds for multiple reps, and perform multiple sets of unassisted chin-ups. I’m pretty sure if she arm-wrestled a tank, she’d win. And she looks great doing it.
I write her programs every month, and while we sometimes butt heads (you’re going to do box squats and like it), it’s been fun to see her make so much progress and enjoy her training.
Because her routine is a bit unconventional, she’s constantly getting questions from strangers and remarks from trainers. Most are curious about a specific exercise she’s doing and what muscles it targets, while others pause to praise her—and Lisa is happy to chat about it.
But I can’t help noticing the double standard. For the 18th time, some random guy approaches Lisa between sets of deadlifts and asks what she’s training for. “Are you training for some kind of sport or something?” he asks. “Nope, just training for fun. What are you training for?” “Uh, football, I guess. But I don’t play now—I used to in high school. I’m 30, so I just train to train.” It’s interesting that guys rarely ask other guys the same thing.
If you’ve ever seen two guys chatting in the gym, you know the vibe. “Hey dude, you’re ripped. What are you training for?” “I’m heading to the club in about an hour to get swole.” “Nice talk.” It’s a bit tongue-in-cheek, but it makes you think: when we see a ripped guy, we usually don’t question it—he’s just training.
Yet when many people see a strong woman lifting weights, they often assume she’s training for a sport or a figure show. I’d love to hear your thoughts—am I overthinking this, or do others notice the same bias?
