I’m not really a gym kind of person. I prefer the outdoors when I exercise, but sometimes Mother Nature is kind of a hag. On this particular day she was spreading her lightning all around and I wasn’t about to risk death for some cardio. We have a gym at our apartment, but I’ve never been, so I asked the husband what he thought of my going there to workout.
I think I want to go to the gym. *nose wrinkled and brow furrowed* Do you think I should?
Yeah, you should go!
Are people going to be there? I don’t want to go if people are going to be there.
There’s never anyone there. Maybe one person. It’ll be fine. Go.
*heavy sigh* Okay, I’ll go. This better not suck.
When I arrived there were already two people there, which is considerably more than the one person my husband swore would be there. There was a guy, I’ll call him Workout Steve because he kind of reminded me of a fellow blogger, Steve McSteveface, and he looked like all he ever did every minute of his life was workout or think of working out or talk about working out or encourage others to work out. Workout Steve could suck it, as far as I was concerned.
Workout Steve had a lady friend with him. They were both swathed in spandex from head to toe and fondling the free weights. I shot them a passing glance while I tried to decide which piece of gym equipment I was least likely to die on. Elliptical? No, fuck the elliptical. Stationary bike? I’d consider it if it was one of those that you sit back in, but just looking at this one made my vagina cry, so no. Treadmill it is.
It’s been a long, long while since I’ve been on a treadmill and apparently they’ve made a few advancements since 1989. Firstly, how in the everloving fuck do you turn these things on? I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be able to look at it and it would instinctually know I wanted it to turn on. Perhaps it could be controlled by my mind? I thought real, real hard.
Turn on. TURN on. Turn ON!
That didn’t work, but after an eternity and a half I figured it out and set up my workout. That was right around the time I realized I brought the wrong earbuds for my phone. I had big plans for Sia and I to duet for the next 60 minutes and I was pretty freaking bummed that wasn’t going to happen, but hot damn this treadmill had TV! Problem solved! Or not, because they only had four channels – ESPN (no), ESPN2 (hell no), Fox News (you’ve got to be kidding me, right?), and The Weather Channel. The fucking Weather Channel? Who works out to The Weather Channel?
That’s ok, Christine, you’re going to be fine. It’s just you and Workout Steve and that lady and it’ll all be over in an hour. Just look outside at the pool and be thankful that you have a leg and you can still do this sort of thing.
What the fuck was that?
Yaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh! Grrrrrrrr! Yeah! *heavy clank from weight dropping*
Workout Steve was a very vocal weightlifter and intensely dedicated to his hydration. I mean, it’s a good thing the ice caps are melting because this motherfucker needs a drink like something fierce. For almost an entire hour I heard his groans, grunts, bellows of pleasure, and heavy sighs after taking a drink of water and there were so, so many drinks of water.
His lady friend was more of a casual stretcher and observer of Workout Steve. She was in charge of his exercise soundtrack, which seemed to be made up entirely of mediocre remixes of Kesha’s Tik Tok. Things got a little more interesting soundwise when a young couple came in and played hip hop through what had to be the open end of a soda can.
Don’t stop make it pop
GRRRRRRR. Wooooo. Yeah!
Unintelligible hip hop
But the party don’t stop
*garbled tinny shouting*
Enter, marathon lady. So, now it’s me, Workout Steve, his lady friend, the young couple, some indistinguishable rapper, Kesha, and marathon lady in a room the a smidge bigger than my bedroom. Marathon lady begins with some stretching and then hops onto one of the other treadmills. Unlike me, she brought the right earbuds so she doesn’t have to deal with any of this. I, on the other hand, have to listen to all of it, including her clomping hooves running on the treadmill.
By then, Workout Steve had had his fill of banging weights together and making orgasm noises, so he and his lady friend bid us all a fond farewell. This exit made room for the young couple to now play their music over the sound system. Frankly, I was thankful for the reprieve from Kesha, but I guess I was the only one. About 45 seconds into the new playlist, marathon lady hopped her clompy ass off the treadmill, popped those earbuds outta her ears, walked over to the sound system, and turned that shit ALL THE WAY DOWN.
I could hear the young couple whispering to each other as marathon lady replaced her earbuds and carried on with her clomping. Within 5 seconds the music was back up to same volume. I’m not a huge hip hop fan, but I really could not have been happier that the music had been restored because FUCK YOU MARATHON LADY! AT LEAST ASK BEFORE YOU MESS WITH SOMEONE’S MUSIC!
At this point, I’m getting super annoyed by the entire process. I would have left, but I couldn’t figure out how to turn off the damn treadmill. I’m trapped on gym equipment that is smarter than me. Holy hell, I hate the gym. I only had a little over 5 minutes left in my workout, so I figured I could hold on for that long. I lived through a year of oral chemo. Surely I could do this.
That’s when cargo short man entered, took the treadmill in between marathon lady and I, and almost broke my resolve. First, cargo shorts for a workout. No, sir, no, just no. Don’t. Then, he wiped down the entire treadmill with an antibacterial wipe. It made me want to fake cough on him. After that, he started scrolling through the TV channels. ESPN, no. ESPN2, no. Took a little time on Fox News before switching to The Weather Channel for a minute. Back to Fox News. Weather Channel, Fox News.
FUCKING PICK A FUCKING CHANNEL. THEY ALL SUCK. JUST PICK ONE!
Fox News. Figures.
Your workout is ending in 3, 2, 1.
I am NEVER going to the gym EVER again.