Since moving to Nevada six years ago, I roll out of bed at 5 am daily to exercise for an hour at my local athletic club. Those first few years and still totally responsible for my husband’s care, I could sweat, breathe heavily, and send my heart racing, before he ever opened his eyes. Not my choice, this work-out regime, but my physician told me to handle my stress or die. She got my full attention, as does my alarm clock, which gets abusively throttled each morning.

Later, after acquiring care-assistance as well as being a glutton for punishment, I continued, enjoying the social structure created around this daily regiment. These early risers, still in their 30s, 40s, and early 50s, have become my friends. I like them.
Three of these mornings, I attend a Spinning Class. For those of you who are not familiar with this maniacal activity, an explanation is necessary. Spinning is indoor cycling, with strings attached. You control resistance on a stationary bike to make the pedaling as easy or as difficult as you choose.  I, of course, would choose “easy” but here’s the catch, there is also a leader, an instructor-of-sorts, who is a masochist and controls the ride. He makes Lance Armstrong look like the Dalai Lama. Besides guiding you through the workout phases, warm-up, steady uptempo cadences, sprints, climbs, and cool-downs, he’s yelling things like “Challenge Yourself”, “Breathe” and “Finish Strong.”

Oh, yes, there is also a mix of music blasting at high volume which, supposedly, energizes the atmosphere. “Lady Gaga”. “50 Cent”. “Death Cab for Cutie”.  Who ever heard of these people?  The lights are always low-to-completely-off, and, of course, it’s still pitch-black outside. Do you have the picture?  There are usually ten to fifteen riders, in a circle, pedaling like hell to ear-splitting tunes. Whew. It gets pretty stinky.  At the end of the “Ride”, Linda, riding next to me and the Chief Deputy Attorney General for Nevada, yells “Great Ride, Dom, Thanks”. I glare at her but say nothing. I’m no dummy.

To be fair, I admit to being in love with Dominick, my instructor, and I am positive that he loves me back.  While he is clearly heading to the base camp of Mt. Everest during each class, I take a detour and contentedly pedal to Pahrump.  And, when he bellows out, “It’s Your Ride,”  I know he’s talking directly to me.

The Spinning Class this morning brought forth the topic of this essay: EGOS.  I believe our egos, meaning those of women of my generation, need some buffing up.  Although questioning whether many of us in our late 50’s, 60’s and 70’s, even have egos, I’ve been told that we do. What I know for sure is that the young women who did make it to base camp this morning, then rushing home to feed kids, shoving a husband out-the-door before showering and dashing off to work themselves, have very healthy ones.

Linda’s ego is totally intact and strong as she not only juggles her personal and family life but handles Nevada’s legal entanglements as well. While Adriana’s ego may have been bruised and battered as she and her husband have built a blockbuster of a business over the past decade, I’ve heard her husband, Bobby, say numerous times that without her running the numbers, there would be no business. (I’ve always loved him for knowing – and, saying – that.) The same for Susan, a wife, mother and Comptroller for Enterprise-Rent-a-Car in Nevada.  Joelle, her ponytail flying as she ramps up the resistance on her flywheel, is a young banker, a mortgage lender for Wells Fargo, who exudes self-confidence and poise.

What I see in these young women and many like them, and, I could be their Mother, is a little something extra special, being so solid within themselves, that I arguably don’t see in me nor many of the women of my generation.

Bravo to our men, our counterparts and peers in age, who have pedaled into their later and for some, retirement, years, with their egos intact and healthy. Some of those egos, amazingly, have even grown larger. Would those guys want to share or give up an ounce or two?

First, just because this Blog is focused on women in their 50’s and 60’s who are single by choice, divorce or death, does not mean there will ever be male-bashing. Absolutely not. I like men. I adored my Father, still brag about my Brother, married more than one, love my son-in-law and was mentored by another.  Some of my best friends are male. During the past seven years, several have selflessly joined my unpaid Board of Directors, providing good advice and counsel. One, in particular, helped me steady my sinking financial ship. (Thanks, Lloyd.)  And, in every single Presidential election, I have always voted for the man!

All I’m saying here is that perhaps a portion of our generation of males’ egos could rub off on us.

To be truthful, all women have egos, it’s part of being human. But, as Paige, my psychologist friend, explained, “I think what you’re talking about is that we are more socialized and conditioned to speak in a manner of the deficit model, otherwise you’re not accepted or, at the very least, are marginalized. Women are more aware and introspective. Also,” she continues, “the cultural socialization of females as being seen through relationships is highly exaggerated in Western culture, whereas men are socialized to recognition, validation through their actions, outward successes, jobs, possessions, and accomplishments.”

So, as Paige suggests, it’s not that men received the Ego-Gene and we did not, it’s just that men don’t have the cultural resistance built in that women do.  Ahhhhhhhhh. The truth may be, to some extent, that our generation of women, in roles as mothers, teachers, mentors, and bosses, were less inclined to raise, socialize, and condition our girls to be anything other than themselves. No boundaries. No restrictions. No Stop Signs.

If that premise has validity, and, I’m going with it, then hooray for us and three cheers for the generations following us.  With just ten days until Mother’s Day, I may just pop the cork and start celebrating early.

First, however, a little “buffing” is in order.