A few weeks ago, listlessly emailing with my friend Pemi about the “amorphous soup” of our days, she wrote me from Michigan: “I am here, replying to emails too late, cooking. I just bought a pink sexy resistance band, influenced I was by Nazanin Mandi’s Instagram.” This report was followed by a classic 🙁 expression. Feeling influenced by Nazanin Mandi’s Instagram is an old familiar feeling :), though seeing a resistance band that was coveted, called “sexy” even; this was surprising.
To my mind, resistance bands — those thin, latex infinity loops that smell like rubber cement — are what my physical therapist sends me home with. Sometimes I get one from her in a new color and thickness, which I take as a beaming compliment about my devotion to stretches. I use a resistance band five days a week, but I’ve always scoffed at them in any context outside of a rehabilitation ritual. How do resistance bands work? They’re so flimsy! Flimsy enough for me to use on my most fussy, crybaby muscles! Certainly, they wouldn’t be useful for my tough, strong muscles! Like anything doctor-ordered, resistance bands seemed remedial, boring, and un-fun.
It’s great that I love to be wrong in general, and especially this summer, when I learned I’ve been very misguided about resistance bands.