Dear Lady With the Bad Attitude in My 6AM Aerial Class,


While all the skinny girls are sipping their twelve-dollar-blue-Maca smoothies and strutting down the hall like they're part of an unannounced Athleta fashion show, you're still fishing the gunk out of your eyes, schlepping your environmentally conscious BPA-free water bottle toward the class water fountain.

Bring a plastic bottle? Not a chance for you. That tye-dyed, recyling symbol print bandana on your head looks like it was earned by someone who truly cares about the real effects of climate change. But what you don't care to do is to pretend-listen to everyone agreeing about how Jenna's weekend in Cabo was eco-friendly 'cause she picked it over flying further to Australia. That's a #carbonoffsetfail, Jenna.

And even though there aren't that many cubbyholes and you often come in right before class starts, your unignorable gall makes all the other women scatter. And didn't you scare a team of whale fishermen once with just a keychain-sized megaphone and a massively-liked tweet to Leonardo DiCaprio? That's the rumor I heard, anyway.

Wisely, I draft in behind you at just-the-right-time so I too can put my shoes away without having to wait for the other ladies to stop senselessly yapping. Thank God for that, and thank God for you!

You head straight to your aerial silk in the corner, away from the self-identifying aerial models because, even though reserving spots isn't allowed, we all instinctively know it’s yours because you’re a woman of habit. And we all respect that because we fear you.

I'm still right behind you and, unlike the rest of the class, I'm happy to find that the silk next to you is available. Because the one thing that brings me joy in this class isn't spinning upside down until I almost blackout, it's knowing if I sway too hard to the right I'll probably bump into you. It's happened before and from the look you gave me last time, this could one day cost me my life. But I don't care because nothing—not even bulletproof coffee—gets my entire mind, body, and soul fully awake like one of your deadly stares.

So why do I love you? Because you don't ever look even a bit happy to exercise this early but here's the thing: you still show up. You show up every Sunday come rain or snow like the motherfucking postal service exercise lady that you are. You deliver me from needing to pretend that some trendy drink or ultra-stretchy pants is ever going to get me excited about nearly-crying while exercising at daybreak with these extremely annoying girls.

You're my cat hanging onto the rope telling me to hang in there! You're my Rosie the Riveter unknowingly reminding me that I can do it! You're the living, breathing picture of those guys rowing a boat in that poster with the piss-yellow river that one hopes is meant to signify dawn and that, if I want to be fit, I have to get up early too.

So please don't ever change. Or if you do, tell me which class you change to and I'll be there to commiserate with you because I got nothing but love for you.

I stan,

Ren Cam