Walking in Mary Embry's Shoes

I had to look up this name using Google to identify the suburban housewife played by Charlize Theron in the movie "Hancock". Not only was I drawn to Theron's stunning kind of beauty I was also fascinated by the superhuman powers secretly possessed by this character. Talk about a powerful being whose anger could conjure a twister and could crush boulders as if they were lumps of sugar.

The actress once described Mary this way,

"She makes this conscious decision to live in suburbia and be this soccer mom to her stepson and be the perfect wife—she lives in this bubble. But when people do that it usually means they are hiding some characteristic inside themselves that scares them. That is Mary's case. She knows who she is and what she is capable of."

However, it turns out that she loses her powers whenever she is close to the lead, Hancock, who likewise becomes vulnerable under the same condition.

Women seem to be at their weakest when they are with the men that they love, easily hurt and wounded whenever they are attacked. And though men, like Hancock, instinctively protect, they do not seem to realize that it's their presence in women's lives that make females feel more defenseless.

And while it seems that we women may learn how to fight battles better in the absence of men, it is not expected that a woman is applauded for bearing arms if it made her male partner look like he failed to keep her safe.

Maybe the story has a hint of sexist overtones. Or maybe not.

It's just that, the part about Mary possessing all of her strength when she is distant from her destined mate got me thinking. If that is the case, then why is it necessary (at least, why do I think it is) to ever feel like we need a partner to feel safe?

Sweating It Out on the Anti-Aging Treadmill

"You're not 40, you're eighteen with 22 years experience." -- Anonymous

I am at the gym, listening to the thump-thump of my feet as I am running 7.8-8.0 mph on the treadmill. To my right is a fragile sixty-ish woman sweating profusely as she briskly walked while keeping her back straight. To my left is a bursting bundle of energy in her early twenties, ponytail whipping madly behind her and moving as if a spring went with each step.

Though my breathing and heart rate are even, a dull pain is starting to grip my quads. I focus on the dashboard, calculating how much time was left until I hit the 3K mark. I usually don’t like doing the same routine in one place. I could be better off being in the zumba or yoga class today, but I particularly chose this exercise to be prepared to join a fun run a couple of weeks from now (I am convincing myself that it would be FUN).

I have never joined a marathon (do TV series marathons count?) before. Well, there was this sports fest in third grade when I stumbled the moment the race started. I remember getting up, scraped knees and all, and tearfully going back to the starting line where I waited until the event was over. Never liked jogging, either, since I used to experience some slight pain in the knees and up to this moment I tell myself that I am not cut out for this sort of thing.

My red-hot iron will is what’s making these legs submit as I am dreaming to be among the top 100 runners of the upcoming event. A medal (better yet, a great snapshot of ME holding up a medal) at the end of the day will be evidence that I still have the upper hand in this fight against aging. Another badge of achieving a physical feat(only in my dreams).

As my attention shifts between my fellow female gym warriors and the blinking dashboard, I glance at the mute flat screen TV monitors showing Tyra Banks’ Next Top Model and the movie She’s Out Of My League. The scenes of the insecure youth taking the condescending remarks of fashion critics or searching the missing pieces of the romantic puzzle hardly pique my interest at the moment.

As I think about when I can squeeze pole-dancing lessons and radio frequency slimming visits in my hectic schedule, I find the real life story of the 40-year-old urban working single mom bending the aging curves of impending decline much more entertaining.