The Lady With A Smile

There was a lady at the gym with the most infectious smile. She was tiny. Probably 75 pounds with her coat on. A Japanese woman that could run, no sprint for  forever! I would watch her sometimes as I waited for a class to begin, or if I was riding a bike. Those skinny legs spun around so fast I thought I would get dizzy.  I don't think she ever broke a sweat. She was there all the time. At least every time I was there. She was quite famous. I mean, when you see someone sprinting on a treadmill for twenty minutes it catches your attention. I didn't know her name, but she always greeted me with a smile. At first I thought she was smiling at the person behind me because I didn't know her, and, why on earth would she be smiling at me? Then I realized, that she was that way with everyone. It didn't matter if she knew your name. She was happy to see you.

Now, the thing about me. When I go to the gym, I go there to work out. Not to socialize. I mean, let's think about it, I have no make up on. I haven't showered, and my hair is up in a sloppy ponytail-- and I'll be honest here-- I don't look great in spandex. The last thing I want is for people to have to look at me for longer than a brief moment. I never meet anyone new or visit with the lady next to me. In fact, I frequently avoid all eye contact. Yes, it's that bad. The people at the gym don't know me. They don't know my name, or that I have five kids. They have no idea I write books or that I like to sing and act. They only know that I sweat like a man and can Zumba with the best of them.

I never minded this before. I liked it that way, actually. I have a lot to do and I want to get in and out without making a scene, check that box, and get on with my day. Until yesterday, when I went to the gym and learned that this sweet lady had died. I learned  that behind that big smile was a woman suffering with a lot of pain and  struggling with personal trials so large they seemed overwhelming. My heart broke for her. My heart broke for her family. And yes, beyond that, my heart broke for all of us that will not have that smile greeting us as we step into class, or climb onto a treadmill anymore.

Today, I found myself looking for her. Wanting to see her smile. I realized how much it had meant to me and that I never really reciprocated her kindness. In my selfish ways, I seldom started up a conversation, even as she was pleading with her eyes for someone to talk to her. I never even asked her name. A few weeks ago she asked to trade  places in Zumba because she hadn't been to that class for a while and wanted to follow me. I laughed and assured her I would only lead her astray. I asked where she'd been and she informed me that she had broken her hip and this was her first week back. I said I was sorry to hear it but was glad she was back. That was as far as our conversation went.

Is this anti-social thing just me? I don't know. A few weeks ago  I felt so sick I stumbled out of  class and laid down in the hall. I was worried I would have ten people surrounding me asking me if I was okay, but I felt so sick I didn't really care. But that worry was in vein. Not a single person approached me or even looked at me (that I am aware of). Now this is were it gets tough. Remember, I didn't want anyone to talk to me, yet, when it was all over and I could think straight, I thought it rather odd that not one person acknowledged the woman sprawled out on the floor, ready to die. So what's a person to do? We don't want to intrude and yet, maybe sometimes we should.

So back to today. She wasn't there. She wasn't on the treadmill, or standing beside me in class. And half way through, I noticed something. There, next to me, and in the very middle of the room, was an empty spot. Now understand, the class was full. To the rim, like people fight to get a spot. And yet beside me there was this gaping hole. I wondered if she knew that she was missed, that there was  indeed a spot just for her. Could she hear my thoughts and those of half the class, as her absence was jolting to so many  people? Did she know that we did love her?

I guess I just want to say that life is hard. But it is also fragile. When it gets really unbearable we have to put our heads down and fight to get through it. It reminds me of the weight class today. My legs were shaking and I just wanted to quit, and the lady teaching the class yelled over our heads, "How bad do you want this? How bad do you want this!!!" Well, I want it... bad. So, I put my head down and finished the work out because I want this! I want this life with all the pain and disappointment and hurt and all the crap that gets thrown at us. I want this life where nothing comes easy and you have to work really hard to get what you want, and even then you may not get it. Because it may not be God's plan for you.

Because, beyond the struggle, and the fight, and the pain, and blood and sweat, there is a beautiful sunrise to be seen; an owl crossing your path as the dawn begins. It is your child hugging you and kissing your cheek and telling you that you are the best mom in the world. It is  love and jokes and funny stories that make your stomach hurt and your eyes to tear from laughing. It is the brush of someone's hand wiping your hurt away. A hug, a cuddle, a passionate kiss from your lover. It is crossing the finish line of a race, and the bite of cherry pie you've been anticipating for months. It is worth it. All of it. Remember, after the pain, there is a cool down: a child's pose, a brief respite, and eventually, toned muscles and a healthy heart. And that makes everything else bearable. As our instructor says, "We're making diamonds out of coal." We begin as chunks of coal, our trials represent the pressure, our reward, diamonds.

Shine bright, Midori. May heaven be blessed with your eternal smile.