The Dangling Conversation
Hubby and I plan to be at the gym Tuesdays and Thursdays by seven a.m..for a 50-minute workout. Two days a week is the acceptable minimum. In our dreams, we go three times. That is the plan. So why do we have these 5:30 a.m. conversations:
“Are we going to the gym today?”
“If you want to. I’m good either way.”
“I can still feel it from the last time.”
“Does this mean you don’t want to go?”
“I probably could.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“I’ll go if you want to go.”
“What is your final answer?”
“It’s your call.”
Torture By Exercise
Never, ever thought I would enter the world of gyms. But, hey, those machines are the most efficient way to get a full body workout. And if that’s not enough exertion, try these:
- weight lifting
- floor mat exercises
- cycle spinning
- mat Pilates
- step plus abs
- step sculpture
- aqua fit
- yoga classes
Are you tired yet? All these choices could render you totally ineffective by decisive defeat.
To save face, just go out for a greasy, gooey breakfast instead. You’ll feel a lot better. Or will you? Mmmmm…
We are all animals of the forest. The weak die out; the strong will survive. I’m a survivor. So it’s off to the gym I go, heigh ho, heigh ho.
Creatures of the Gym
Not only are there strange-looking machines and devices there but stranger looking people. Like the big and buffy anabolic steroid guys with pin heads and no necks. Hubby calls them pimple heads. And when they shave their heads bald, the heads look even smaller. Do they think this is attractive to the opposite sex? When I see a purposely bald head, I think bowling ball…the ears are where you put your fingers.
And then there are the “roids” who wear hoodies with that far away; I wanna kill look in their eyes. Wet-pants scary.
I’ve seen hoodies with no sleeves or sides. What’s with that?
And the false eyelashes at the gym? Fake nails. Fake boobs. Hubby calls them rubber boobies. You can always spot them. They always point straight ahead no matter what. Is this the new gym rat look? Don’t get me wrong. Breast augmentation is fine. But the waaaay overdone Barbie on steroids look is not. It’s vulgar.
Are the cleavage chicks there for sexercise or exercise??? I always see them checking themselves out in the mirror…they’re not looking for muscles. But for sex appeal.
Bad enough being a fashionista with those ass-baring (I prefer ass-bare-ing) shortie shorts and matchy-match outfits (even the ear buds are color-coordinated) but do ya have to let it all hang out too?
Am I just jealous? Here I am in my chopped off white shirt and raggedy loooooong shorts. The veins on my legs look like the blue highways on a road map. I’m old; they’re not.
These bombshells must be here to secure a hookup ( called a date if there’s no sex). I’m here to prevent strokes and heart attacks. To survive.
Now on to the Yakety-Yaks. Yes, this is the word for a large shaggy-haired ox of Tibetan highlands (they have been spotted at the gym too) but doesn’t it sound better than yackers? These verbal heads will tie up machines forever with their incessant chatter. About nothing.
One fellow will corner you for a half hour with his diatribe. You stop exercising to give him your full attention because that’s the polite thing to do. He also expects it. But then you hate his guts. The only way to avoid these types is to wear ear plugs (even if you don’t have your device turned on). And avoid eye contact. Do nothing to invite.
The physical configurations I see people in have me baffled. Now why WOULD you do THAT? Because you can? You’re confused about the Charles Darwin theory that the best adapted to their environment will survive while others become extinct? Is this alteration of form
brought about by natural selection?
Hoarders also go to the gym. They carefully guard machines for future use while they are exercising somewhere else. They clutter up one machine or more with a towel, water bottle, jacket or their gym buddy. Grrrrr….this grinds my beans.
Newly arrived workout tools include giant rubber bands and giant ropes. With the latter, they crack em like a whip and yell out yah. Just like a cowboy. All I can imagine with the rubber bands is that you get one and shoot yourself across the gym. Hope ya don’t misfire.
At our age, thoughts about survival are almost an obsession. I think we will head to the gym more without conversation. Survival of the fittest. Or so they say.
Was this an exercise of free speech?