I saw a young girl with her mother last weekend at the Y. They were walking on treadmills next to one another. She was maybe, eight years old, with a blond bob of hair, and a pink t-shirt. She walked with determined purpose, smoothly and not too fast. My first thought was, what an awesome mom to spend productive, healthy time with her daughter that way, and to teach her good health habits. I love to see parents spending time with their kids, and not just running them through the drive through or taking them to the movies. I love things that create interaction, attention, discussion and thought.

Then the next thought that went through my mind was "I hope that girl doesn't think she's fat!" You see, one does not very often see children on the cardio equipment at the Y. Unless they really are overweight, and even then I think it's only been a handful of times I've seen it in the past four years that I have been attending.

I was ashamed of myself for thinking that, yet proud that I'd had the positive thought first. I miss my own mother, and from the time she died until even now I feel unfinished. I never had anyone show me how to take care of myself, to exercise and eat right, to shave my legs and wear high heels. I am saddened to think there are scores of girls her age that already feel fat. They feel like they are on the outside of the "in crowd" and don't fit in. They are ashamed of changing their clothes in the locker room. They can't find cute clothes in their size, so they give up.

I have come a long way from being that girl, but she still feels a strong jolt every time she recognizes a kindred spirit. I hope she was wrong, though. I hope I saw what my heart told me I saw the first time.