You Dont Mess Around with GYM

Today I was feeling a little bit under the weather, and actually did something I never do- I skipped my date with my most steady and reliable boyfriend, GYM.

I know, I know. Dont look at me like that!! Its the first time in probably 6 months that Ive missed a day, but yes... today I stood up GYM.

And, as I sat and battled the wave of anxiety that swept over me as 9pm rolled around and I didnt get dressed and go, I was certain I could feel myself getting fatter. But, then thankfully I got over it, and instead sat and began pondering the intriguing parade of people who frequent the gym.... Anyone who goes to the gym on a semi-frequent basis knows what I am talking about, but what I want to know is seriously, who are these people?!!

First off, we have the Lazy Ass. These are those annoying people who circle the parking lot searching for the closest spot possible. I mean seriously, WTF?!! Isnt the entire point of going to the gym to break a sweat? Or what about the people who will actually follow you as you walk to your car to take your spot? I mean, how lazy are you?! There are 100 spots further back, but youve got to follow me as if its 2 days before Christmas at Fashion Valley and there might not be another empty spot for an hour. Sometimes I seriously consider for a moment walking all over the parking lot, acting like I am going to my car, just to mess with these idiots.

The next character I usually notice is the Muscle Head. I mean, who *DOESNT* love the sight of a guy in spandex who is so pumped up on steriods that he cant put his arms down?! You know what I mean, the guys who walk around looking like a cartoon character- anyone remember Popeye?

Or how about his little wannabe friend whom I shall call "Mini Me"? Youve seen the Mini Me's- the guys who walk around behind the Muscle Head and emulate him, much the way little children emulate their parents. The only real difference though is between perception and reality, and well, the Mini Me can always be spotted by the unmistakeable prescence of "Air Lats". What are "Air Lats" you ask? Well, Mini Me is muscular, but he is by no means actually so muscular (like the Muscle Head) that he has lost the ability to put his arms down at his sides and walk around like Modern Man. I suppose "Air Lats" are a means of wishful thinking, much like the idea that you dress for the job you want. So I guess really that would actually make these guys posers, but now were getting into semantics, so Ill just go ahead and wrap this one up.

One last thing of note which I find particularly amusing about this prison-like segment of the gym population is those great shirts they love to wear. You know, the tshirts that have been gutted, into these tiny pieces of cloth that barely cover anything. The male version of the bikini? A Man-kini?! Or is this shirt a closer relative of the thong (the underwear, not the sandals)?? The mystery may never be solved, but regardless, the man-kini seems to be a sort of Muscle Head uniform, and is required attire for the gym.

I always have to stiffle a bout of laughter when I am assulted by the sight of our next character, the FAT personal trainer. I mean, talk about the blind leading the blind. I seriously dont get why: A) the gym hires people who look like they live next door to Krisy Kreme or B) people actually pay these Fatty McFatty's to help them get into shape. Its disgusting how easy it is for one to get certified as a trainer nowadays. The test is just that, a test, on paper, of book knowledge. Most of these people have no idea the proper way to train someone else, otherwise they wouldnt be obese themselves. Dont get me wrong, I am not ripping on people who are overweight at the gym, I love these people! They are there making the effort to get themselves healthy and I applaud them for it. I am just saying no one should ever pay someone else their hard earned money to get them in shape, if that person cant even see their own toes past their big huge gut.

And, while I hate trainer Fatty McFatty, I really cant stand Super Trainer either. You know the ones I am talking about- often a muscle head, or the female version... that chick at the gym who has rectangular boobs, man hands, and a booming voice which is freakishly deeper than your man's alluring verbal communcae. While Fat Trainer has no expertise whatsoever, Super Trainer has too much, and both are equally dangerous to Joe Average who is seeking their help in getting healthy.

Super Trainer doesnt seem to be able to identify the fact that their client doesnt compete in the Mr/Ms. Fitness competition, and end up making their obese and desperately out of shape clients do the same exercises that they themselves, Super Trainer, do in their own routine. It makes me so mad when I see some poor mother of 3 attempting to get rid of her badonk-a-dunk, struggling to do a 3 part lunge with weights, and falling down or getting hurt as a result. Mother of 3 isnt fit enough to do this exercise, and Super Trainer should know better, but they dont. As a result, their clients end up either leaving them because they get hurt, or are not getting the results promised. Bad trainers make me ill! Unfortunately, the gym is rampant with these people.

Next, we have the odd creature called the Barbie girl. Again, I have to take a minute to ask seriously, WTF?! Who are these girls who show up in their $300 sweat suits, make-up applied with a trowel, and their blinged out cell phone? You know, the girls who spend more time talking to other Barbie girls, or Barbie girl wanna-bes, than they actually do working out. Then they leave and gulp down their Grande Caramel Mochaccino from Starbucks, and are actually seriously wondering why they havent reached their fitness goals. Fortunately, some of these Barbie girls will find happiness, when they marry and become real housewives of the OC, and can afford to get lipo. The cruel cycle of Juicy Couture sweats, too much make-up, and excessive calorie consumption is allowed to continue with new results. Hooray for plastic surgery and perverted old men!

Lastly, and perhaps the most annoying of all habitual gym frequenters is Sweaty Talker Guy. This is truly one of the most hideous and perpetually inevitable pariahs who always seem to find me at the gym. Just in case you are lucky enough to not know of whom I speak, this is the big guy who gets next to you on the treadmill and tries to talk to you, eventhough youve got headphones on, all while he sweats profusely in your general direction. LOVE this guy!! And its even better when he really smells to top it off.... Seriously, unless I know you, I do not want to talk to you at the gym. Its nothing personal.

It seems that those of us who come to the gym, for the sole purpose of working on our fitness, are a bit of a rare breed. I dont come to the gym to make friends, or flirt with anyone (especially not the old perverted guys who are older than my dad. I mean, sometimes I want to tell them they should be ashamed of themselves, because they probably have a daughter my age.... EWWWW!). Infact, I dont even always wear matching gym clothes, and I certainly dont wear expensive ones. If I happen to be wearing make-up, it is because its the end of the day, and I have already been out and about being a productive, contributing member of society.

When I am at the gym, I am there for the sole purpose of making sure people are shocked when they find out that I am in fact a mommy. Thats right, I go to the gym to combat the possibility of having to wear "Mom Jeans"!! "Because shes not a woman, shes a MOM!".... Call it vanity if you want, but I simply refuse to go out like that! Truth be told, its not due to vanity at all, but instead my life-long *pathological* fear of being overweight... and anyone who knows me well, knows sadly why I have this particular fear...

That ackward glimpse into my pschye aside, the most important thing a date with GYM means is quiet time- a little "me" time- time to recharge and regain my sanity. A date with GYM is the 2 hours or so of my day when no one is asking me to tend to them...no clients, no boss, no children, no babydaddy.... Just me, and my music, and all the random thoughts rattling around in my head. And the simple act of having a nice date with GYM helps me feel like me again, so that I can go back to tending to needy clients, a rambunctious baby, housework, email, whiny babydaddy, etc., etc.

Yay for the gym!!