My typical running motivation kicked into high gear this week. Awesome. It’s cold and snowing in Cleveland, in case you haven’t noticed. Same time as two years ago, where I felt my legs itching for a twelve-mile trip to nowhere. Where else to run, since the motivation wanes as quickly as the mercury: the fucking gym.
I. Hate. The. Gym.
But not only feeling the blahs and the lazies, I have a hot body to maintain since there is the slight chance it might be seen naked (I don’t know… my perverted neighbor told me this through his peep hole) — and as per usual, the ballet conditioning I have been doing since summer is becoming redundant. Just as bike riding did at the beginning of Fall. As did the professional dancing in my 20s. And cross-country in 7th grade. And when that Russo kid showed me his penis while we peed together when I was 8 (*yawn* bored, much?). And I really, really wanted to run and exert some negative energy before I ended up kicking one of my male coworkers in the nuts.
So, I joined the gym again anyway because I can (pretend to) be motivated by 4:45 a.m. buzzer alarms in the place where sweaty foreheads reign and people who do five minutes of elliptical-jiggling cardio think they’re in shape. I’m sorry, but five minutes will just not cut it, whether you’re Rambo or going Commando.
And shortly thereafter, I remembered what I inexplicably hate about said gym: Everything with sweaty balls and a penis extended from it thinks that the gym is the perfect place to pick up chicks.
Newsflash (even in the 0.0021% chance you got lucky in your Sophomore year of college): It’s not.
In the hierarchy of “meeting potential suckers suitors,” the gym is on the bottom of my WannaFuck List. I go there intentionally to sweat and smell bad and trip over my shoelaces and hit my head on unintentional objects of humor, without so much as the kindness of ugly strangers. I’m fine in my own world, thank you. I intend to continue running incessantly and blasting ABBA or Vanilla Ice on my iPod to ignore you. Even if you stand beside my treadmill for an extra hour after your workout ends. Especially if you play that little charade game where you pretend like you’re pulling something out of your ear, and I shrug my shoulders because it looks as though you’ve developed an ear tick or I forgot a Q-tip and I am good at Trivial Pursuit not Pictionary, you ass… Unless while I was running, a set of underwear slipped out of my (previously worn) pair of my yoga pants, there is no need to get my attention. And even in that case, keep ‘em.
I don’t need you to share my water fountain. Or teach me how the leg-spreader machine works. I don’t desire you to work out directly in view of the women’s locker room (I arrive dressed, Asshat, so I am a walk-in-walk-out kinda gal). And no, I am not interested in how much you can bench, lift, squat, or suck. OK, maybe I already gauged how much you suck.
Because, seriously? Your gym-stalker actions only assist in achieving my personal goal of (maybe) actually running that half-marathon this Spring.
Maybe. And even then — sweaty balls or hairy — I am still not giving my number to a gym rat.
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December 10th, 2008 at 10:26 pm
My ex said he would purposely stare at the floor so girls didn’t think he was hitting on them!
December 11th, 2008 at 1:00 am
Ok.. so I’ve had a pretty crappy day.. but this made me giggle. Thanks.. I needed that. Love you!!
December 11th, 2008 at 12:04 pm
What cracks me up is the amount men can look at themselves in the mirror.
I’m with you - there to work out, have my face turn red and possibly fall off the treadmill because I’m bad on those.
Part 2 of your post should be the girls who wear club outfits the gym.
Take off your make up and grab some free weights!
December 11th, 2008 at 2:57 pm
At the gym close to me, its a total meat market, and the people there are complete zeros. I mean worse than me. I *love* the guys that stand in front of a girl that is running and both studs will be angled so that they are both kinda facing her (as if to include her in their vapid conversation of which guys don’t wipe down the machines after use).
Its the bar for the people that don’t drink… or can’t. They worship their bodies above all and the idea of putting that poison their system is blasphemous.
December 12th, 2008 at 11:34 am
i respectfully disagree. what time will you be at the gym tonight again??
December 15th, 2008 at 10:51 am
I couldn’t agree more, I hate the muscle-milk drinking guidos that trapse around gyms. I finally resorted to using the “Fitness TV” videos on my on-demand, they are actually pretty good adn they switch them up every few weeks so you don’t get bored. Yoga is also an excellent option as you aren’t allowed to talk during it but you do run the risk of awkward body parts being thrust in your face while trying to do some of the poses.
December 15th, 2008 at 11:12 pm
Dude, where have you been?? On hiatus!! Why is everything in reruns!!!
December 19th, 2008 at 8:25 am
Oh yeah? Well I have something worse than someone hitting on you at the gym. Someone FARTING HIS ASS OFF on the machine two machines down from you! Uh! Tuesday night, around 7pm… whoever you are dude, I hate you! You stink! I swear this guy had chili before he came to the gym. It was AWFUL. I will never work out anywhere near that guy again, I promise you. Gross!!!