I don’t usually broadcast the fact that I’ve gone to the gym. I don’t “Check-In” on Facebook. I don’t post pics on Instagram. I don’t have a Foursquare account. But today, wooo boy, today…Today, I have to share. Because the gym brats were a’plenty.
- I arrive at the gym. I’m about to enter the locker room and a girl younger than me is on her way out, facing downward toward her phone. I don’t alter my course. (I have a firm policy against adjusting my path for people not paying attention. They deserve to get bumped into, I’m sorry.) She does one of those “Excuse me!” deals, all sarcastic like it was my fault her face was berried in her iPhone. She then proceeds to sit on the bench of the Lat-Pull machine…and make a phone call. Ugh.
- I jump on my favorite stationary bike. The lady to my right is pedaling along when her friend stops by to chat. And chat. And chat. Am I the only one who doesn’t think the gym is comparable to happy hour? Seriously, these two broads were drowning out the episode of Castle I was watching on my phone. Ugh.
- Turns out “Excuse me!” chick knows the lady on the bike to my right AND her chatty friend. They proceed to workout together, never more than a stone’s throw from the bike I’m currently riding. And by “workout together,” I mean hover around one particular machine for ten minutes and gossip it up before moving on to the next machine in their farce of a circuit. Ugh.
- I’m done on the bike. My ears hurt from turning up the volume so much on my phone so I could hear Castle over the chatty din. I enter the locker room to switch out my phone for my iPod. I’m greeted by a large woman with what seems to be all her worldly possessions on the counter where the complementary blow dryer is. She’s on the phone while blow-drying her weave. I didn’t know that was possible. Not blow-drying a weave, talking on the phone while operating a blow-dryer. She has her young daughter with her. Both of them are eating from a large bag of potato chips (obviously counterproductive at the gym, yes?). The little girl runs away, spilling chips everywhere, including in front of my locker. The mother scolds and spanks the child repeatedly. The child screeches. The mother yells. No this isn’t awkward at all. Ugh.
- I head to the activities room where the group fitness classes are held. It’s empty, of course. I like to do my workouts in there because it’s private and there are plenty of dumbbells in my preferred range and they’re all on one rack. On the gym floor, you have to hunt them down and you still may end up working out with something too heavy or too light. Anyway, today was an abs day. I’m on my little mat doing all my zillions of types of crunches. Who else is in there with me? Some ballet couple erotically stretching each other out right behind me. Then they start their routine and use up every spare inch of space in the studio. By “every square inch,” I mean getting their twirl-on so close behind me that I could have tripped them without really moving. Their little show prompted onlookers. Which is great for them, but I’m just trying to do my crunches. Ugh.
- I head back to the locker room. I’m greeted by a new person blow-drying their hair. A stark naked person. No towel. No underpants. Nothing. Stark naked, bent over, blow-drying. I have no words. I went home.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, concludes this (hopefully) one-time exception to the I-don’t-brag-about-going-to-the-gym rule.
Oh and be sure to check back on Wednesday when I blog about whatever it is I decide to blog about and announce the date of my Cover Reveal for Blood in the Past!