Tag Archives: Arms

My Arms vs. Your Manhood

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Recently I did something I’ve done only once before. I signed up for an online dating service. Last time it didn’t result in much, but this time I’m trying a different site and am open to the possibility of a different result.

One thing that has become apparent very quickly is a common theme with men in the “real” world, too – they feel compelled to comment about my arms. I work out. I have muscular arms. Girls always tell me they want my arms; guys have to make a point about my arms. What they don’t realize is, guys inadvertently let me in on their own self-confidence in regards to their masculinity with these comments, and therefore, my arms are a great filter when it comes to potential dates.

The details of the comments vary, but they tend to stay within the same general areas:

1) “Wow, your arms are bigger than mine.” I sometimes intentionally wear sleeveless shirts on a first date to fish this one out. If it makes you feel funny as a man because I have muscular arms, this situation is not going to work for either of us. I’m not a big fan of my arms being bigger than yours, either.

2) “So, how much can you curl?” I’m not going to think you’re cool because you’ve drudged up the weight room lingo you remember from college. I understand that you’re trying to relate to me, but this just tells me you haven’t seen the inside of a gym in fifteen years.

3) “I bet you could beat me in arm wrestling.” Again, I don’t want to be the tough one in the relationship…and I really don’t want you to be that into me being the tough one, either. There are a certain group of guys out there that are a little too excited about strong girls, if you know what I mean.

On the rare occasion a guy will actually pull off a clever variation of one of these lines. This past week I was in line at the grocery store, carrying a large basket of items when the male cashier turned to me and said, “Can you please not get in my line next time if you’re going to have better looking arms than mine?” I laughed.

On a side note, I also get a lot of guys who seem to think asking me nutritional advice is a good pick up line and a lot of guys who make karate chop hands at me when they find out I do martial arts. Here’s a quick tip, guys – neither of these tactics will get you a date. This was the downfall of the grocery store clerk – he went from his clever line to immediately discussing how much healthier my groceries were than his. Again, I understand you’re trying to develop a connection between us, but it come across as a crazy pick-up line when you clearly don’t understand what I do and yet are pretending you do. Tell me about yourself, ask me what I do, or just tell me you like my arms!

So where does this muscular-arm-filter leave us strong girls? Well, for me, in the past I have ended up dating the gamut of alpha-males, from law enforcement to professional athletes, because, let’s face it, loudmouthed alpha-males don’t find strong girls intimidating. These days I’m holding out for someone a little more well-rounded, someone with a little more ability to communicate, who perhaps even knows how to use a computer and is on the same internet dating service as me.

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My Butt Is Big: Classic Nike Ads

I love these advertisements from Nike. Originally released in 2005, there’s a reason they still resonate today. They are about women being beautiful, strong…and sassy.

My shoulders aren’t dainty or proportional to my hips. Some say they are like a man’s. I say, leave men out of it. They are mine. I made them in a swimming pool then I went to yoga and made my arms.


My knees are tomboys. They get bruised and cut every time I play soccer. I’m proud of them and wear my dresses short. My mother worries I will never marry with knees like these. But I know there’s someone out there who will say to me: I love you and I love your knees. I want the four of us to grow old together.


My butt is big and round like the letter C and ten thousand lunges have made it rounder but not smaller. And that’s just fine. It’s a space heater for my side of the bed. It’s my ambassador. To those who walk behind me, it’s a border collie that herds skinny women away from the best deals at clothing sales. My butt is big and that’s just fine. And those who might scorn it are invited to kiss it.


I have thunder thighs. And that’s a compliment because they are strong and toned and muscular. And though they are unwelcome in the petite section, they are cheered on in marathons. Many years from now I’ll bounce a grandchild on my thunder thighs and then I’ll go out for a run.


My legs were once two hairy sticks that weren’t very good at jump rope. But by the time I reached the age of algebra they had come into their own. And now in spin class they are revered. Envied for their strength, honored for their beauty, hairless for the most part. Except that place the razor misses just behind the ankle.

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