Because I feel the need to punish myself a little more than I have been with the crazy races I have been running, I decided to join a gym. The reason is that my upper body contains more fat than Donald Duck shortly after he has been plucked and placed in to a roasting tin, but before he enters the hot place for 90 minutes and some of that fat comes out.
Why the Donald Duck analogy? I hear you not really mention. Well, I also like walking around with just a shirt on, while letting my tackle sway gentle in the breeze and as we have found from cartoons, it is socially acceptable.
You never see Minnie Mouse go “Oh Jesus…Donald…you know what…no, just…ugh, I can’t look. PUT IT AWAY!” do you?
Exactly. Yet weirdly when I do it, my wife makes these vomiting noises and my eldest daughter mentions that my tail is on the front while the cats tail is on the back.
Proof, ladies and gentlemen, that cartoons and real life are not as entwined as you may have once believed. Times have moved on. Sadly, I haven’t.
Anyway, yes…the gym. Joined it. Went once or 40 times in the last couple of months. Just long enough that I can walk with bull in a china shop levels of intrepidation in to this post and mention just what I have seen there. Or, as I could also call it “The many personalities of the gym goer”.
Anyone who goes to a gym must have seen this. The meek and the little TOO full of themselves. The inbetweeners and the newbie vs “I live here, I own everything” imbecile. It is fun. Shall we begin? Why the heck not. Pointless stopping the post here.
The Newbie: I like the newbie. I was a newbie. We were all a newbie once. You remain in newbie status until a newer newbie joins and focus is moved to them. Including yours. “Ah yes…I remember being at that stage! Just 4 days ago when I joined!”. They seem to feel the need to work like they are an ox in a field dragging some huge great cart full of the worlds heaviest material. You can see them wishing you would stop looking in their general direction so they can take a break.
The “Will they notice?”: The guy that gets on the machine, has it on the lowest level and still struggles. That is fine, I am not judging that at all. What I am judging is how when you are done, you put it up a good few levels and walk away so it looks like you were lifting WAY more than you actually can. Hint: We know!
The Competitor: I hate the competitor. The “Ah yes. You just lifted that. I should therefore go up 1 setting and amaze you with how strong I am.” Or “I see you are on the rowing machine. Watch as I go a little faster than you!”. These are the people I want to punch. I don’t want to mess about with the “Seriously…what are you doing? Have you not noticed I kinda don’t care at all?” words and go straight for the “I am SOOO sorry…I seem to have broken your nose.” Although the problem is…I am a little tooooo competitive. So if they get on a machine next to me, I kind of work a little harder….or “a little harder than them”. It is a disease. I need it to stop. Actually, I need for them to stop thinking “Look, he is a bit chubby…I will go show him up” because I then have to have an epic battle. Fortunately, I win more than I lose. Unfortunately, I am know that because I am keeping
count.
The phone user: WHY THE FECK ARE YOU HERE! Cycling at the speed of snail, they sit there. Talking on the phone. Or texting. “But they are at least exercising, Sy!” No…no they aren’t. They would be better off at home watching TV and having a slightly agitated leg. They would burn more calories in laughing at a program about funerals than they will on that bike. I saw one girl talk on the phone for the entire time I was there last week. 1.5 hours. Talking. You know what about? No me neither.
The “I don’t like my body”: Hi, you seem to have turned up wearing a tent. It is OK, you are here because you are trying to do something to improve your figure like all of us here…except her…the one on the bike…she is sooo freakin annoying. Nobody is judging you. It is OK. Embrace normal gym clothing.
The “Look at my hat”: He turns up with a baseball cap on. He puts his stuff in the locker. He walks up to the free weights. He turns his cap around, looks at himself in the mirror and then he lifts those weights. What a guy.
The Weights Group: They stand in a group. They talk about being a gas boiler repair man (they do at my gym anyway) before taking turns to lift weights At which point they make noises like they are trying to crap out a thoroughbred stallion. After that, they stand up, make some weird arm movement and stand in front of the mirror, put on some rose coloured glasses and stare at themselves lovingly. “My god I am AWESOME!”. Look at my pecs! Look at my arms! Look at my unbelievably puny legs where I don’t do ANY lower body work. It makes no sense. Some of them look like an upside down warning triangle. And when you go near their machines or weights…wow, it is like walking up to a troop of baboons and kicking the baby one.
The washing is for wimps!: Shower…and wash your clothes. Seriously. I often watch them while inbetween sets and all I hear is the snoopy theme and see pig-pen wandering about. And what is that smell? It could be body odour. But it could also be napalm.
The fashion parade: It is a gym. It has a primary focus for someone to generally sweat. You do NOT need that much makeup. I won’t lie, if I was a single guy and there was a girl I was interested in, I wouldn’t be at the gym trying to pull her. I would find a first impression of sweating over someone a little uncomfortable. So really, save the makeup. We really don’t care. Well, those lot in the corner do, but they can’t see you because they are kissing their biceps and looking at that guy who just kicked the baby baboon.
Then there is the instructors. I caught one of them measuring his arms the other day. I was kind of happy to know it was ONLY his arms he had the tape up against. I don’t want to get involved in THAT competition.
I probably missed a few due to a lack of interest in thinking anymore than I have already, so feel free to remind me in the comments section.
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