Tag Archives: gym

Lift This. Sweat on That.

Who invented the idea of going to a gym?
Who decided it was a good idea to go into a room and sweat with a bunch of strangers?
No. I mean really.
Who?

gym 4
Have you seen what they were doing? The first gym rats willingly went to sweat and do physical activity with strangers in a dark room. Actually, kinda sounds kinky, but you know…why not…Marge said it would be good for me.

And so they went.

I get the whole men going to the gym, back in the day. The lifestyle changed. No longer were they running around hunting and killing animals. Dinosaurs weren’t trying to eat them all the time. They didn’t have to carve instructions into stone. Fields were plowed by tractor, not ox. And they no longer had to walk to work, uphill both ways, in the snow, without shoes….cause they had a horse and buggy.

How did all this get started?

Gym5

How exactly did you get selected to be a guinea pig for these contraptions? Here just step into this and strap this on. No. Really. Trust me.

Yeah and that’s exactly what Sweeney Todd said before he trimmed your hair. Then you were the main ingredient in his lover’s meat pies. Oh so delicious. Filling, yet half the calories.

I’m not impressed.

And when did women think it necessary to start torturing themselves on these mind-boggling machines? The women of yesteryear were, without a doubt, in better shape than most are in today’s society.

Their movie star golden girls had curves and softness, voluptuous bodies that were adored by men the world over. So who said this contraption was a good idea? Jiggle it, make the fat disappear and the muscles appear. Gym 3 is just a little too much pushing and pulling going on in this example. I mean, how exactly do you make it go?

I’m suspicious that there were quite possibly other enjoyments going on with the early exercise machines.

I’m also not seeing any instructions on these machines. Did it just come to Marge automatically? So obvious how this works, type of moment? Did they fumble through the steps after watching someone else? Or did they have personal trainers? Was there a posting in the daily mailer reviewing the necessary steps to getting the Betty Boop attributes?

I’m just curious.

Did they sweat? There doesn’t seem to be any sweating going on here. And if you go to a gym today and I would assume this goes for ANY gym – they smell. Some worse than others. But it’s like they say on the crime shows, “just breathe normally and you’ll get used to it.”

No getting over it. Gyms smell.

Bad.

No doubt the men sweat. It was therapy for them.

Women, I’m thinking not so much. They didn’t start sweating until Jane Fonda and Richard Simmons hit the scene. Then I’m fairly certain they were sweating to the oldies and goodies.

gym 1 No sweating here.

I bring all this up because I’ve been going to my local gym. It’s a new place for me since we’ve only been in this area for 3 months. Less than a 5 minute drive from my house, couldn’t ask for anything better.

Since college, however, I’ve belonged to a handful of different gyms and I’ve concluded one thing:
It’s like signing up to become a resident of another country.

I can only speak to the environments of the countries I willingly joined, all seemed like good ideas at the time. Flash back on some of them and I think WTF?

First.
There are the ones in town where people join to go and be seen. There’s no sweating allowed. In fact, as you walk in, they spritz you with glittery body oil….just to make you shine and sparkle even more. The residents of these gyms are usually the ones who are half plastic.

Top to tail….fake. Fake. Fake. Fake. Fake.

Fake.

They laugh loudly and prance like reindeers from one side of the room to the other. Did you see me? No? Here, let me go over there and look at the magazines. Wait, did you see my butt? No? Let me go this way….

Just stop the insanity, please. I’m may throw up.

Second.
There is the local gym, which houses two different types of residents – mostly:

1. Older residents who have been told to start a gym program for their health.
2. Middle aged people who just want to try and look better.

The side note for this type is sometimes you get a local gym, owned/operated by a locally grown person who is definitely into good health and weight lifting. In which case, you may get some serious body builders. But, that’s okay, they’re doing their own thing and really, the owner of this particular country just wants to keep it going and is happy you’re there. In fact, so happy, they will even help you learn new exercises! Score! Didn’t need a trainer for that!

The local gym, out of all the ones I’ve experienced, has been my favorite…..thus far.

Third.
A gym that is part of your housing community.
One word.
Children.

Fourth.
Is only allowed for individuals with estrogen.
The pink ladies gym.
I’m not talking about the Grease Lightening Pink Ladies either.
The color pink.
Pink walls. Light pink carpet. Pink towels.
Pink.
And the competition is so high that you can’t hear the music on your head phones.

Conversations, are flung with these one line, free roaming daggers:

“My butt isn’t as big as hers, right?”
“I can’t believe she’s wearing THOSE pants.”
“She smells.”
“Her tan is so fake.”
“I can lift more than that girl.”
“Are you looking at me?”
“Look! At how much she’s sweating! GROSS!”
“Do you think they’re real?”
“Slut.”

Yep, that about sums it up.

So here I am at my current gym. This was after I realized the gym associated with our housing complex was not going to work out…..see above explanation.

I’m on my second month now. It’s not bad.
Smells? Yes.
Lots of equipment. Bonus.

I have been going after work. It’s a enormous mix of younger folks (translate that into college kids), a smattering folks my age (some grey hair sprinkles) and few older folks (translate that into white hair and balding.) It’s crowded, but not terrible. Definitely have to wait for things like benches to do free weights, but meh, I can find something else. Definitely no ginormous body builders here – that I’ve witnessed. So we’re all doing about the same and hoping to look as good as that person over there.

The bonus here – no grunting. Seriously. There could be a law about that in this place. Thank you.

When I go, I’m in the zone. I’m not paying too much attention to who is looking at who or not looking. I’m in and out. I don’t have time for the piddly nonsense of the gym social scene. I mind my etiquette and move on.

Confession though: I do notice that I am one of the older women. I do notice the college girls looking at me. I don’t care, I’ll march over into the mix of the boys and use the free weight leg press just like any of those guys wishing he was like Popeye, but these college girls won’t. I will hop up on the assisted pull up / dip (cause my arms are weak and I need the help) and not give two flying monkeys what anyone thinks. If nobody, after careful surveillance of course, is using one of the Smith Machines, I will walk over and do some squats. the-smith-machine-good-or-bad
Life is too fucking short to worry about what everyone else is thinking about you. In all honesty, they’re probably not even noticing.

Unless I fall off the assisted pull up – then I’ll be damned they would of course be watching, with a spotlight, sports commentator and I’d get a 3.7 combined score for landing it.

Or if I collapse under the Smith Machine because my hands slipped and I can’t get the weight off my collapsed body. (Talk about awkward positioning.) The next day’s headline will read: “Woman crushed by mere 50 pound weight while squatting. Should have used gloves to avoid slippage.” Hindsight.

This morning I decided to switch things up and go first thing. No make up. I didn’t even comb my hair – just put a clip in it. 5:30AM – and there I was at the gym.

THIS, for me —— insanity! The cats were even confused with my early wake up. If sleeping were an Olympic sport, I could get a bronze medal!

The gym parking lot was nearly empty. What is this great fortune I have? Park by the front door? Are they open yet?

Turns out all the college kids come after work. Winner, winner, chicken dinner!

I walk in and any machine I wanted could have been mine. The age bracket – completely different. I was one of the young chicklets walking around. Everyone was in sweat pants or baggy shorts. Nobody was wearing liquid latex body paint outfits….oh, this is nice!

I’ve found my people! This is when the people in my age bracket and older come to work out. They’re serious. They’re here to get a job done and then jump head first into the rest of their daily routine.

They aren’t here to fein idiocy at how to do a bicep curl.
They aren’t here to twirl their hair and laugh at the guys doing bicep curls.
They aren’t here to prance from one side of the room to the other. Wait. Did you notice my butt?
They’re not here to try and out weight the guy next to them in the mirror!

We’ve got shit to get done and in under 60 minutes.

Go!
Go!
Go!

I can’t wait to go back tomorrow! We’re like a little early morning gang!

Maybe tomorrow I’ll wear my Jazzercise thong!

Jane Fonda thong

That has as much of a chance at happening as me finding Forrest Griffen on the machine next to me.

In which case, I’d totally be twirling my hair and feigning how to do a bicep curl.

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This Way to the Pink Flamingos Please.

One night my better half says, “Oh yeah, next week I have a dinner engagement.”

Oh, okay….whatcha doin?

“My company is a sponsor for the Pink Flamingo Awards, so I”m going to go.”

My response….blink blink. Blink blink.

Pink flamingos?

You didn’t think I’d want to go?

A. It’s an award show

B. There’s pink flamingos

I say, “Okay so can you bring a date?”

He says, “Well yeah.

Okay then…I’m coming.

He then advises me its to support the local LGBT Visitors Center and they’ll have Drag Queens.

My jaw hits the floor.

AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO TELL ME ABOUT THIS SOONER? Hello? How long have we been together? This is right up my alley. These woman are fabulous!

To double check, I ask if this is a dress up event. Yes. Wear a dress.

Perfect. Got the perfect black dress.

He then says, because up until now, I’ve had a shit day…..you could wear one of your wigs.

Stop the train! REALLY!

GET

OUT!

I immediately ran to the box where I keep my wigs.

I knew exactly the one I wanted. Got it out. Got my comb. Brushed it out. Tried it on. Was delighted.

So excited.

The Wednesday arrived and the plan was hatched….meet at the Miami Convention Center at 7:00PM and enjoy the night. Silent auction, dinner, cocktails, award show – oh my! Whoop, whoop!

5:30PM I call the Mister and tell him I’m heading over to our company gym to shower and get my wig on. He says, “oh that’s too early, might as well wait.”

Okay, well you know what? Don’t listen to a man, when you know how long it’s going to take you to get ready. What the hell do they know anyway?

They know bubkiss.

They’re a PIMA. (Pain. In. My. Ass.)

I thought he might be right. So I waited until 6:10PM.

Went over to the gym.

Jumped into the shower.

Did my make up.

Put almond oil all over my arms and legs so I have not only a nice scent but subtle glow to my skin. Perfect!

Add the perfume and then take my black dress out of the cotton garment bag.

I pulled my grey and black shoes out and my satin handbag…finally, it was time to get dressed.

Please note: At this point in the evening’s program, we have a problem Houston…

It all went to hell in a hand basket and we were in the express lane. And the express lane was free of charge tonight. Of course.

Knew it. Should have went with my gut. Why? Why, listen to a man when it comes to getting ready?

Unless he is a Drag Queen or a prima donna – they’re clueless. PIMA!

I am so unimpressed at this point.

There I am, half dressed in my cute black dress with not a soul to be found in the ladies locker room and the
fucking zipper on the back of my dress is stuck. I don’t just mean stuck as in I’ve gained a lot of weight and it won’t zip. I mean like it’s frozen and not going to move an inch.

There’s a good five inches to go before it’s zipped up to the top – which would be mid back.

My hands were previously oiled, so I wash them yet again.

Nothing.

I pull the dress down as far as I can.

Nothing.

I try and turn the dress around to the front to shimmy the zipper.

Nothing.

I pull the dress up higher and try to pull the zipper up.

Nothing.

I try squeezing the zipper together.

Nothing.

I contemplate going as is.

Not happening.

I ponder wearing my sheer black and white polka dot shirt that I wore to work over the dress.

(only if I’m desperate) And that’s not really an option.

I contort my arms to try again to pull the zipper up.

First, left arm over. UGH!!!

Then the right arm over the top…..

Maybe if I turn just a little.

Are you fucking kidding me?

I wait and hope a female walks in.

Tick tock.

Nothing.

I think about going out into the gym. It’s a guy at the desk and think…..He could zip it. What if he can’t? Okay that would be embarrassing.

On the way to the awards I could stop somewhere and buy something, which is a good idea.

But then I’d have to get OUT of this dress and I can’t do that either.

Well what the hell?

I stop and look at myself in the mirror. Sweat, is pouring down my face. I’m a total mess. Is the air conditioning on? TURN ON THE AIR CONDITIONING!!! THE ALASKAN IS DYING IN HERE!

You have got to be kidding me.

Maybe the sewn in slip is bunched up and I start patting down all the layers.

NOW! How about NOW!!! Arms go up and over to work the zipper.

I try and pull the dress up as far up to my arm pits again.

Nothing.

I rest my sweaty forehead against the mirror.

Fuck it.

I pack up my bag.

My plan is to go as is and my better half is going to have to figure it out in the parking lot. Mental note, pack black duct tape in the car next time.

I am pissed…..I don’t have time to brush my teeth and what is even worse…..

I
don’t
have
time
to
put
on
my
wig.

I have to go. I wash my hands and do a final makeup touch up. By makeup – touch up I really mean mop my face with paper towels. I return to get my bag and try one last fricking time with this damn zipper.

Just kidding! Zip! Tah-dah! No problem.

Are you kidding me?

For the love of Pete.

I get to the car and it’s 6:50PM. Zip over the Causeway to Miami Beach. The air conditioning is on FULL ARCTIC BLAST and I arrive at the Convention Center just in time for cocktails. I throw on the fascinator I made for a Titanic dinner in Juneau….and while it wasn’t my wig I got enough compliments, so I was happy enough.

We arrive and head immediately to the bar. I’m busy texting a friend about an item I bidder on him from the Floppy Rooster….I stop suddenly and when I look up we’re behind not one but TWO Drag Queens. Lady one, later advised the crowd she was NOT a Drag Queen but a transgender, which was fine. She was lovely. Reminded me of someone I know. The other one. Well, I admit…………startled the hell out of me. One of those, I couldn’t help but stare, but not stare for fear she’d call me out on it. Nope, no picture needed. Thanks!

So. How You Liking Miami?

Over the last few days several people have asked me the same thing.  It’s always with hesitation they ask.

“So.”

l o n g        p a u s e      h e r e

“How you liking Miami?”

Then I swear they hold their breath and squint their eyes.  Waiting for me to sucker punch them or something.  It’s quite odd.

My response?

It’s fine.  Honestly, I have nothing to really compare it to logically.  It’s completely different from anything I’ve experienced in the last 18 years.  Below, I thought I’d take a moment or ten, to tell you what I think…..

First off.  It is the polar opposite of living in Juneau, Alaska.

  1. People here use umbrellas.  In Juneau, we use the hoods on our coats and tough it out.    A little rain never hurt anyone.
  2. However, the rain in Miami is a torrential downpour that floods streets and the car wipers don’t go fast enough.  Thunder, lightening and rivers…..30 minutes later and we’re done with the rain.  Out of Mother Nature’s system and moving on to better things.
  3. Lots of things I don’t need to see.  Such as that lady’s nipple, as she waited for the crosswalk signal.  Her bikini top was just a little off kilter.  Or that lady in front of me on my golf course walk, with the wrinkled and saggy skin…..with her short shorts tucked up on the sides under her thong (not kidding) so anyone behind her could see the loose bags of skin that used to be her butt cheeks…..but more like an overcooked potato skin….flopping around under her shorts.  She would have made a better impression keeping the shorts down and covering the cheeks.
  4. I’ve never seen so many BMW, Audi, Mercedes, Lamborghini, Maserati, Porsche, Lexus and Cadillacs in one area.  So much so that I have forgotten what a Subaru looks like, let alone a pick up truck.
  5. If you are trying to grow an alien out of your stomach, hip or butt…..please, encase that in spandex, we all need to see that.  And it’s better if you can encase it in spandex that has horizontal stripes.  See below:
  6. One day I went to work in a new work outfit.  Gone are the jeans and hiking boots.  I now wear dresses, skirts and platform heels.  I texted my cousin and said, “I think I picked the wrong skirt it seems tight and short.”  Her reply, “you are in Miami it’s all about butts and boobs.”  Noted.
  7. The land of 18 languages.  Russian, French, Czech, Yiddish and oh yeah… Spanish.
  8. Hey!  It’s not all Asian food here!  What a break!
  9. It starts to drizzle and the traffic slows down from 80 mph to 40mph.  I’m the only one weaving in and out of traffic at that point.
  10. Whole cases of freshly cut fruit at the grocery stores.  Not to mention the celebrity sightings there too.
  11. Beaches without rocks.  A novelty.
  12. Sunshine.  Lots of sunshine.
  13. I can get a manicure for $15.00 and a full service pedicure for $20.  Seriously.  With a massaging recliner chair to boot.
  14. Costco…..easily twice the size of ours.  I can get my prescription, fresh flowers, produce, gas, eyeglasses AND funeral casket all in one place.

It has been interesting.  Yes, living in the suburbs of Miami definitely has it’s challenges.  The traffic is something fierce but you learn to work around it.  The people aren’t always the nicest but you deal with it.  For example if I start talking to people in the grocery or Costco people automatically know I’m not from here and it either gets them interested in where I’m from or causes them to choose another check out lane.

My job is great.  I love my job.  It’s tough.  Every day is a challenge and you don’t know what’s coming next.  I’ve never slept so good – all because I’m mentally drained by the time I get home at night.

Working for a giant company is definitely odd.  The closest thing I have to compare it to is working for the State of Alaska.  Huge machine and we’re only responsible for the left big toe portion.  I’ve met two of the presidents, which is very exciting.  One of which thought I brought a great conversation to the table!  Okay!  Believe it or not he is British and I actually got about every third word he said —- rather than my usual every sixth word.

I laugh a lot every day and yet there are still lots of things I need to learn.  When the VP says, “DO IT.”  I at first think, “really?  He can’t be serious.”  No, really, he is serious.  This is soooo backwards from what I’m used to that it takes me a bit to roll it around before I swallow and say, “okay, well if he’s serious, then hell yeah!  Let’s do this.”

Many times people have asked me, “what do you do on the weekends?”  I am here by myself and it makes people worry about my sanity and social life.  The first thing I tell people is this is the SECOND time I’ve packed up and moved somewhere I didn’t know anyone or anything.  How do you think I ended up in Alaska for 18 years?  I’m a Philly girl!  Come on!

Second thing I have to tell people:  I’m an only child.

I was taught to fend for myself since third grade.  True.  While others in this world need outside people to complete them….I am comfortable doing my own thing, on my own time at my own speed.  Often times people are dumbfounded when I tell them I do all kinds of things by myself.

I take myself out to dinner and not just fast food.  Sit down, order a glass of wine, salad, dinner etc.  When I walk up to the hostess stand I always tell them, “I am a giant party of one.”  The facial expression is priceless!  What a relief!

I have gone to movies and art museums by myself.

I have even gone to theatre productions by myself in major cities.

It’s no big deal to me.  I can do it.  Contrary to what is difficult to lots of people in this world…..I am very, very comfortable being with myself.  By myself.  I don’t need a giant circle of people to validate me or my actions.  Here I am….love me or not….it’s not my problem.

Yes, I have a small circle of friends, around this globe and they are what matters.  I don’t need a huge friend base of 200 people to make me feel valued or accomplished.  I’ve been doing this since I was 8 years old and I’m proud to say I’m quite independent.

So when people are astonished I can do this life in Miami, by myself, I am perplexed because to me, this is a huge adventure.  I may take myself on a 3 mile walk and enjoy my thoughts or music as I go.  Maybe I will drive to Barnes & Noble and get lost for a few hours in the shelves of books.  There’s a great movie out….maybe I will treat myself to snacks and a glass of wine then hit the movie.  I have signed up for Conversational Spanish at the college and have a GroupOn for pole dancing lessons – all on my own.  No big deal.

I go to the gym at work during the week – first thing in the morning.  Do my work, on the third floor of the 1080 building until 6:30 or 7:00 at night and head home.  At home I cook a nice healthy meal, watch some tv or read….play Words with Friends and then off off to bed.  Rewind and repeat the next day.

The complex I’m in has a pool, if I should choose to jump in, but that’s not for me yet.

Yes, there are massages and nail appointments.  My new hair stylist Greta is great!  I have been to the beach once in all my time here….go figure.  But have enjoyed my balcony and potted plants just as much.  I have my usual weekly chores and food shopping to get through.  Snore.

It all comes from how you were raised.  My mom made me a strong and very independent person – which I am proud to be in this world.  Yet there are times when I think, “what the hell?”  Those moments come from not having experienced this life style before and just having to get used to the flow of things.

When I moved to Alaska I had no clue what Xtra Tuffs were – and I have my second pair with me now.  My co-workers are often teaching me about local customs and flavors, which is fantastic.  “OH, you have to try this Cuban dessert.”

I truly enjoy my coworkers sharing their local knowledge – especially the Cuban side of things.  As it turns out, my great-great- great grandparents were from Cuba.  They owned a tobacco plantation.

So see, I’m not so foreign in this land after all!

The Gym – Always a Story

My goal is to get to the gym four times a week.

When I successfully wrangle my butt out from under the soft and cozy blankets….stumble over the pets to make a cup of coffee….blindly throw on my gym gear…..put my hair up in two pig tails and manage to make it INTO the gym….I give myself a pat on the back, a kiss on the hand and a red star on the calendar.

No, really I do.

Kiss my hand, that is.

If I’m going to spend the wee hours of the morning sweating it out with some of  Juneau’s most interesting residents… then by god someone should be kissing me for the effort.   I’m not referring to the overly furry man with the pony tail and tat-sleeves I see every morning.  Either shave that thing, knit it into a sweater or cover it up – good god man!

Of course getting stars on the calendar is quite the bonus too.   It’s a mental thing.

Yeah me!

Without a doubt, it goes back to my second grade days when Mrs. Boyer would give out stars to the best kids in class at the end of the day.  Yes, please.  Don’t I deserve TWO?  Me, suck up?  Never.  Don’t know what that even means.  Now give me the stars!

Each student received a little handmade book at the start of the school year to collect stars.  My booklet had a gray wallpaper cover.

The two most sought after treats were either getting your face painted during recess or saving up 100 stars.  What did you get for 100 stars?  The best thing ever!

Mrs. Boyer would bring her Collie into school for the whole day.

Okay, I know you were thinking the best thing ever is really an endless vodka iv drip.  Followed by daily  massages by some hunky, half-clothed, man of your choice on a white sand beach.  Better yet, can I have the vodka iv drip while getting the massage from Mr. Bare Chested Sexy Guy?

Funny the things you remember.

That’s why I love my red stars.

When I go to the gym, I’m focused.  I’m not there to be seen.  I’m not there to walk on the treadmill and gossip with friends.  I’m not there to check into a social club.  I really don’t give a flying flip if my exercise pants don’t match my tank top or socks.   I’m there to sweat, lift weights, climb stairs, push weights, sweat, circulate on the elliptical, pull weights, work, sing along to the songs on my iPod and ponder how to solve the world’s problems.

Duh.

Yes, it’s true.  I’ve ignore people I know at the gym.  Thank you tunnel vision.  Honest, it’s not on purpose.  (Okay, I admit, sometimes it is.)   If you cross through my line of sight of course  I will acknowledge you – I’m not rude!  However, if you’re on a treadmill six down and across the room from me, don’t expect me to wave my hands in the air.  I am certainly not going to rush over to inquire how your previous night was.

News flash:  I don’t care.  I am there to work.  Get in.  Get out.

Some of the members of my gym are aliens.  There’s the crazy guy who I swear is going to seriously injure himself on the weight machines.  He’s creepy and he’s dangerous.  Not a good combination.   Above all he drives me absolutely nuts with how he does things. There was the woman who was insistent on providing me full frontal disclosure – awkward.  Just put that away, I’m not interested in your ya-ya.

However, this week, I’ve encountered something completely different and I can’t figure out what the advantage would be for this guy.

The only logical conclusion in my mind:  this guy thought he was in a low-budget porno.

Imagine this scenario:  I’m using a flat bench to do flyes and presses.  A guy comes over – not in the best shape.  Older.  The dumb bell racks are lining the wall in front of me – by my feet.  He walks up and selects one weight – at about 30 pounds.

This puts him about 6 feet away from me.  Immediately to my right.

Holding just one weight.

In his right hand.

Curls commence.

Fine.

Then the weirdness starts.  Sound the appropriate alarm here…

He raises his left leg and puts his left foot up on the rack at a 90 degree bend – sort of.

His foot is on the rack.  Kinda like he’s stretching?  Really?

Did I mention he’s wearing shorts?

Now what is this about?

I’m still perplexed.  Weirdo.  I finish my bench exercises and realize he’s conveniently parked himself where my weights need to be returned.

Stretch….one….bend….two….bend….three….bend.

Really?

I put my weights down next to my bench and decide to walk through the gym for a minute – you know to cool off.  I return a couple of minutes later.  Now he’s attracted a friend.  Both of them are now blocking the rack.  You’ll be glad to know, he’s switched legs.

Bend….one….bend….two…bend…three.

It’s just too early for this kind of stuff.  I’ve only had one cup of coffee.  I’ve just sweated myself silly for an hour.  My chest feels like silly putty and now you want to block my way?

Grabbing my weights, I throw my shoulders back and walk straight up to the guy – nearly hip checking him on the approach.  EXCUSE ME – and slam the weights into their holder.  He obviously thought I was impressed with his pale, fleshy thigh as he gave me a big grin…bend…one…bend…two.

Really?

Freak.

Don’t make me say sorry.

The Creepy Gym Guy Returns

I had to share this with you. For those of you who have read earlier notes about the Creepy Fucker that regularly goes to my gym, behold another installation.

He was back yesterday.

As I was safely perched on the Crosstrainer, spinning/climbing my morning away, I spied the guy in the weight area. His workout today wasn’t the usual leg extension machine but alas, tricep pushdowns.

The concept, basically, is to push the bar down and slowly allow it back up….working the muscles in the back of your arm. (The jiggly ones.) You keep your elbows tucked in to your torso and face towards the weights – palms down and P-R-E-S-S!

I wish I could have gotten a video. He put so much weight on the machine for this exercise that:

When he went to press down, he had to bend over in half – at the waist – to get the bar to move. Hint: too much weight.

Then when it was time to let the bar “slowly return” he nearly gave himself a bloody nose. That bar whipped up so fast it literally took him right off his feet! Seriously, the guy dangled for just a moment in the air due to the work of gravity and the weights returning to the rack. He’s damn lucky it didn’t caterpalt him into the next room! I, of course, would have run to help him….as soon as I picked myself up off the floor from laughter.

Yes, I confess. I was snorting out loud. Luckily, all the cardio machines have TVs so you never know what people are snorting about. Smart move on behalf of gyms everywhere — keeping us all sane and cleverly disguised.

He did this move another 4 times and then went back to his leg extensions. Of course I’ve ranted about how he does those too. So much weight on, yep….you guessed it…it lifts him right out of the seat! He ends up only moving the weight maybe 1 inch! Good lord, send someone to help this man before he injures himself!

Imagines still flash through my mind with him dangling from that bar for just an instant. Too much weight, too much weight! I’ve got to get a video.

Onwards and upwards.

Just Another Gym Observation

Three things to know about me:

1. I’m not a prude.
2. I’ve sunbathed on a nudest beach.
3. I have nudest friends.

Now that we have that out of the way, let me tell you what happened yesterday morning at the gym. After checking in at the front desk, I merrily head into the ladies locker room – excited only enough as one can be when you realize you have an 45 minutes of cardio coming up.

Now, when you open the door to the locker room you immediately have to turn left and the lockers are straight ahead of you – about 6 full strides. When I took that left yesterday morning, luckily there are non-skid mats on the floor, otherwise, I would have most definitely found myself taking out the garbage can and knocking over the floral arrangement as I tried to keep upright and act normal.

Behold full frontal nudity.

Arms above the head – fluffing their wet hair with the towel.

Stretching….

It was like going to an all inclusive resort, where you flip through the TV channels and suddenly realize the porn channels are free. One minute you’re watching Bobby Flay challenge a chef from Detroit and the next minute you’re seeing what I can only call wet meat and a lot of legs.

There I stood, like a deer in headlights. Still in my purple puffy coat, hat, scarf and socks (you have to take your shoes off at the front door.) What the hell was that? I think I just went blind. I don’t need this at this hour of the day. Quickly I think to myself, I could suddenly stop and wash my hands. Or better yet, use the toilet, then wash my hands. While still in my coat? Really. Just go get a locker. Get a grip on yourself.

It’s not like I haven’t seen women naked in the locker room before. It happens all the time. However, this girl thought she was attending a show and tell. I’m busy trying to find out where modesty went and it’s nowhere to be found. I like being modest. I don’t need everyone to see what I’ve got. Myself, God, my doctor and my better half know what I’ve got and that is good enough for me thank you.

As I approach the locker area, still partially blinded, I realize….shit, I think I know her. Are you kidding me? Well this is awkward. The upside is my usual locker is free so I head straight for it. The downside is it’s located about four down from her’s. And she’s taking up the entire bench. When I say entire bench, I’m saying I couldn’t even put my water bottle down.

Now I’m stuck with the idiotic panic of probably knowing this girl. If it’s her…then we actually worked together this summer. I’ve seen her in here over the last few months and we don’t say anything other than a “Hi, how’s it going.” Well I can’t start a conversation now, because I’m trying to ignore her. And she had that towel on her head, which changed her appearance. It’s not like I would recognize her in a lineup of naked woman from the neck down – so I’ll just pretend I’m in my own world. Which, for now, due to safety reasons, I am.

La la la la
Small fuzzy pets.
Baby animals.
Snorkeling.

Then it happens. Using my stealthy peripheral vision I see, in shear horror, she has put her leg up on the bench to apply body lotion. WAH! Kooka! Kooka! I don’t want to see your Kooka! Put it away! OMG where is your modesty? For the love of God, woman! Did you want me to run over and slap a blue medal ribbon on you or something? Cheese-Its!

La la la la la
Going to Barnes & Noble.
Snuggling with FeeBee cat.
La La La.
Loved that movie “Red” and the pink pig
La la la

As I’m pondering whether to acknowledge her or not…because I don’t want to be rude and we obviously saw each other. Although I’d say I saw more of her than I wanted….another lady comes into the locker area and starts chatting with her.

I swear she says to naked woman: “I like your outfit.”
Naked woman: “thanks.”

I pause for a nano-second. Was that a pick up line?
That’s it! I’m outta here. I slam my locker door and punch in the security code. I probably left sneaker tracks high tailing it out of there so fast.

Of course, as I dash out the door to head up to the cardio machines I nearly trip over the Creepy Fucker – figures.

Today, I’ll admit, I’m a little afraid to go back to the gym. At least I got my sight back.

SHUT IT! This Is A Gym!

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?

SHUT UP!

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.

SHUT IT!

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.