OMG – the gym has become my personal hell. If it wasn’t for the effort of lifting the weights, I don’t know how my mind could keep from going off the cliff of screaming lunacy.
First off, I manage to get to the treadmills and there’s nobody there – awesome! Which one do I want today? I select my machine and off I go. Fifteen minutes later two girls come in. Out of all the machines, they end up one treadmill down from me. Really? Come on. There’s a plethora available and you want to be here. UGH. I hate that. Move down!!
They’re obviously workout partners – each motivating the other to do their best – keep it up – you can do it – cheerleading all the way. How can I tell? One is overweight and the other isn’t. Neither one has put their treadmill beyond a 3.0 speed. And suddenly I see why….
It’s a therapy session.
The skinnier one starts talking, loudly to her friend. She must think she’s on her cell phone. What? I have my headphones on and I can STILL hear you. What? You want me to get the gym’s loudspeaker mic for you so we can all hear?
You’ll be interested to know that skinnier girl didn’t know who her father was until she was 22 years old. In fact, her mother showed her a photo, which she had seen growing up and always wondered who this man was. She thought it was the ice cream guy but …. How alarming to not know until then, I mean really, the stress and how it fracture her life, it makes her want to only eat junk food and maybe try to get on Oprah before she closes the season. Don’t you think she has a chance at being on Oprah? Really, Oprah just discovered she had another half sister, why can there be a show about me and the mystery of the photo.
OMG….she went on and on and on….
Her poor friend just nodded her head and uttered one syllable replies, cause that’s all she could get into the conversation.
Fast forward about 45 minutes later.
I go into the locker room. SHE IS STILL TALKING! Did she even take a breath? Maybe I should get the oxygen tank from the front desk. She is starting to turn a little purple around the gills.
Now she has her supposed workout partner cornered on the bench. Maybe she needs the oxygen tank…actually more like an alcohol tank. Give me a shot and keep ’em comin’.
This conversation is about how her son, Charles, was doing sixth grade math in third grade and he came out of the womb speaking five languages and could contemplate the power of ten…and knew the answers to the greatest mysteries in life and was born to be a leader….She’s certain in a former life he was a King…and so on and so forth….and the school principal has been fired, which is good cause her son deserves better and what was she supposed to do? The tragedy if they didn’t discover his greatness.
I look at her friend, cornered and exhausted. She’s slumped against the lockers, barely nodding her head in agreement. My god, this woman hasn’t shut up in nearly an hour. Every time her friend has even a slight involuntary muscle twitch, the skinnier girl launches into a new speech on some unjust done to her.
I’m exhausted just listening. Could someone please provide a couch in the snack bar area? Maybe with a cardboard cut out of Dr. Phil. Then gym members could lay down and “get it out of their system” for an extra monthly fee – rather than sharing their problems with the rest of us. Some of us use the gym to work out our bodies, some go to be heard and then others are unfortunately trapped like a fly on fly tape.