As a current fatty, I'm trying to get my weight down. I signed up for a gym just blocks from my apartment and I soon hope to represent Wendy's in an ad campaign similar to Jared's from Subway. This gym is unique - although the only other gym I've been a member of was a college gym - whose mix of naked professors and almost naked 20 year old girls became the norm. This gym is special because it has not meathead front desk guy, silently judging you as you come in with a magazine. This gym is open 24 hours and you just type in your code and go whenever you want - sure it's a safety issue - someone will inevitably collapse under a dumbbell and need an "I've fallen and I can't get up" necklace, but that's not my problem yet.
I enjoy this. Often there is no one there, no judgy eyes, no nothing. I can lift my 20 lb weights in peace or plod along on the treadmill while my feet sound like thunder. It's glorious.
More recently, I keep going at times when there are personal trainers and their clients. Now, this gym is quite small, 6 treadmills, 3 ellipticals, a bike and some free weights. If there are trainers, there is no room to move. It was even worse today when the trainer was coming on to his client like this was gymnastics class at a bar. Even worse, this girl was reciprocating. She wore makeup and earrings to workout. She stood there in her Alabama t-shirt pretending she didn't know how to do an arm curl. Seriously. "Oh, trainer, can you put your hand on the small of my back and use your other arm to push my arm towards my chest? Here let me push it out for you," her body language suggested. I was deep in post rock running mode and thus could hear nothing, but the interplay said it all.
She got to a point where she just couldn't take anymore and he edged her on like a personal trainer should, put he edged her on by placing his hands on her shoulders and rubbing. What does a person do when they are watching the makings of a porno about to happen? The answer, as it turns out, is write a blog.
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