Why wouldn’t I?
But I forget. I am not the woman my mom wishes I were. I move stuff myself rather than waiting for some strong manly type to do it for me. It’s a good thing, because there have been times in my life with a definite lack of strong manly types. Still, a disappointing characteristic in a daughter.
I also think of physical strength as a kind of sympathetic magic. The stronger I am in my body, the more confidence I have in the strength of my soul. Sure, this is superstitious, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Besides, when I feel stressed and angry and powerless, I can take out my aggression on inanimate objects. The victories I have over the barbells become symbolic of my intended victories over less tangible objects.
Weakness is boring. Limitations are annoying. The stronger I am, the more fun I can have.