Monday, August 11, 2008

Gym Dandy

I've never really been fat. Well, there was that short period around my bar-mitzvah where I had to shop in the Husky section at Burdine's. Also, there was the time when I traded pot with a Nestle distributor and all I ate for 6 months was Butterfingers. Oh yeah, and then there was the year I boycotted healthy foods and only ate things with high concentrations of bad fat and bad sugar. But still, for most of my life, I've been lithe and svelte.

So, you can imagine my dismay when I turned 35 and my weight inexplicably jumped from 160 to 180. If I hit a bump in the road, my boobs would bounce and jiggle uncontrollably. My hips grew to proportions where one might refer to them as "child bearing". While shaving, I missed random hairs because they were stuck between one or more of my multiple chins. Yes, I was bordering on plump.

I hate doing anything that requires physical exertion. At the same time, I hate looking like the lovechild of Chef Paul Prudhomme and Shirley from What's Happenin'. So, I joined a gym.

To a lot of people, the gym is like a social club where they hang out and chill and talk about reps and laps and traps and lats. These people hit on the overly good looking and under intelligent staff who are only nice to them because they work there. These people stand around naked watching sports in the locker room as if male nakedness hadn't gone out of style during the Roman times. These people are usually stockbrokers or real estate agents or lawyers or their wives or husbands. Pretty much, I hate everybody who goes to gyms. That is why I get in and out as quickly as possible. My gym is not my social club.

The first gym I went to was one of those hip gyms. The clientèle consisted of women with fake tits, fake lips, fake calves, and of course, fake personalities. The men were either muscleheads, douchebags, gays, or all of the above. Needless to say, I didn't last long there. The gym where I go now is less hip, which in layman's terms means "older". The aforementioned groups are still there, but they're less aggressive, less buff, and less likely to kick my ass for not wiping my sweat off one of the machines.

By far, the worst part about the gym is the locker room. I already mentioned the nakedness, but I feel implored to return to it. There are certain things a guy should not see on another guy. For example, at least four men at my gym have tramp stamps. Male tramp stamps!?! Also, there's this one old dude who has a huge belly and and the smallest penis I've ever seen. He looks like a turkey that's ready to be served. The other day, I saw a more endowed dude walking around semi-erect. It was like an episode of Oz, but more disturbing. I should not see these things...EVER!

I can't do a thing in that locker room without coming into contact with a naked guy. I weigh myself, there's a naked guy waiting behind me. I get water, there's a naked guy sipping next to me. I get a towel, there's a naked guy holding a towel, but not wearing one. It's like Burning Man without the good drugs.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not lurking around, staring at these bare cocks. In fact, I don't even change at the gym. I change at home and shower at home. When it's cold out, I wear pants over my shorts allowing for a non-exposed change. I do everything in my power to avoid any extended time in the locker room. Although, I do have to go into the locker room to store my keys and to piss. If they had a bathroom and lockers in gym gen pop, I would never go into the locker room.

Aside from nude male ass, the other thing I don't like about the locker room is when people groom themselves in my presence. One dude cuts his toenails every time I'm there and undoubtedly "accidentally" shoots toe jam my way. One douchebag shaves his chest (only douchebags shave their chests) and gives no regard to where his hairs fall. The worst incident of gym grooming was when a guy was hair drying his balls over the sink and sweat flew off the balls and into my mouth. Mmm...salty testicle sweat!

Once I get out of the locker room, the rest of the gym's not much better.

The women, most of which are cougars, dress to the nines. They even wear makeup. You really understand where the term "cougar" came from when you see that mascara drip below their eyes from sweat. The majority of the women don't sweat though. They hit on these older guys who I had previously seen naked. They also talk A LOT about pilates and yoga. Women love pilates and yoga. They're so proud they have "sports" they're better at than men. Namaste indeed!

There's always some asshole who spends 45 minutes on each machine. He's not really doing anything. He's just breathing and waiting forever to do his next rep. I try to stare him down and let him know that I want to get on the machine, but he couldn't care less. Machine sitters are the bane of my existence.

Then, there are the Gym Nazis, the schmucks who are really into gym etiquette. They scrub down the machines after they work out and give me the evil eye for not doing the same. Fuck that! It's a gym. I can sweat wherever I want. If I gotta have ball sweat in my mouth, I will not wipe off my sweat from the incline bench press. The Gym Nazis also get mad when I fart while working out. Shit! I'm squeezing all sorts of muscles. Gas is bound to slip out. Deal with the odor. Embrace the burn!

And what about personal trainers? They might be the biggest tools on Earth. They have this attitude like their work is so important. Look, you work at a fucking gym, not The Vatican. Take your tribal tattoos and tight shorts and fuck off!

I could go on forever about what irks me at the gym, but I'm bordering on a Seinfeld routine and I will NOT border on a Seinfeld routine. To make a long story short, after a year or so of going to the gym, I've lost that 20 lbs. I'm back to my fighting weight. I'm so sexy that I want the world to see me. Where can I show off my body? Oh I know - I can take off my clothes and hang out in the locker room naked. Yeah!

1 comment:

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