Everyone knows I’m more adept at linguistic gymnastics than I am at the physical pursuits (unless I’m terribly drunk and you tell me “yes, of course you could totally be a cheerleader”, in which case, stand well back and grab yourself a camera) but that doesn’t mean I haven’t ever set foot in a gym, it just means I haven’t set foot in a gym for over ten years and even then, I’m not sure you can class using the spa pool and sauna as “working out”, more’s the pity. Anyway, just because I don’t waggle weights around in front of sweaty strangers, doesn’t mean I don’t know what goes on in these places and it certainly doesn’t stop me from having an opinion on them [collective cheer from audience].
I used to say that gymnasiums were nothing but torture chambers. This was based on the fact that they are rooms lined with lots of barbaric looking machinery that medieval executioners would have loved to be left alone with for half an hour. Now, well, I still call them torture chambers but this is based less on the equipment and more on the strange behaviour one is forced to endure in one’s quest for a pert buttock and a six pack you could store CDs in.
For the record, I am all in favour of exercising. I just prefer to do mine like a civilised person. At home. In front of the television. I also like to roam the streets hating tourists which is a cracking bit of cardio (nothing gets the blood pumping like a 5 mile walk fueled by inhospitable rage) so please don’t for one moment think that I am going to suggest you are wrong for entering the sweat and blood stained portals of a work-out arena. Each to their own, as the old woman said as she puckered up for the bovine backside.
For the normal person out there, the desire to go to the gym is fuelled by a healthy amount of self-loathing, felt every time they look in the mirror at wibbly bits that can no longer fit inside the average item of clothing without the aid of a girdle and some Vaseline. The normal person will want to get in and out of the gym as quickly and invisibly as possible, with as few people seeing their huffing puffing lumpy bits, and with some small miracle meaning that they come out of there with a miniscule shred of self-esteem still intact. That’s the “normal” person. The trouble is, they aren’t the only ones using the gym.
For some anthropological freaks, this isn’t merely an opportunity to increase health and fitness levels, this is a chance to wear tighter-than-tight, shorter-than-short designer Lycra outfits, to top up their fake tan, comb their glossy flowing locks and drink in the admiring glances of well oiled muscly beasts. And that’s just the men.
These muscle-bound exhibitionists aren’t there because they saw une handle d’amour (I’m trying to make muffin-top sound sexy, do you like it?), they haven’t had more than 3% body fat since they hit puberty. It is my theory that these people actually work out at home before leaving for the gym, just to make sure they arrive looking as lean as the proverbial butcher’s pencil. This also frees up enough time once they are actually at the gym to strut, flex and lunge their way across the front of the mirrored wall so everyone can see their perfect physique from all its best angles, allllll oooof theeeeeem. I actually recall seeing one such oily steroid junky pull out a hair brush (not a comb, a full on brush) to stop in front of every gym bunny in the place and coiffe his mane with full tri and bicep rippling action. It was like watching a camp horny gorilla waggling his willy in front of the (unimpressed) troop females.
The scantily clad, fully made-up female flaunter does the same amount of showboating across the floor but she seems to include far more bending in front of her unwilling audience. It’s as though she’s scared her shoe laces are untied and needs to continually check them, lest she trip on the running machine. How very sensible of her.
When these life-sized Kens and Barbies aren’t thrusting their intimidatingly muscular crotches in your face, they can be found on the one piece of equipment in the place that you would really like to use in your mission to wobble less. There is generally a little sign next to these torture devices stating that nobody should sweat on them for more than 20 minutes at a time. You stand, you wait, you check the clock, you wait some more and still they bob around up there, sweat-free, fake tan and make-up still perfectly in place, and that’s just the m… damn, I used that one already, didn’t I? What you’re forgetting is that the rules don’t apply to these godlike creatures. You, with your pot belly and shapeless tracksuit must abide by the laws of the common man. These untouchables know that they are a superior race and that everyone is happiest when they can watch how a Power-Plate should really be used, by someone with a real set of thighs.
So, you’ve spent an hour in the gym, 17 minutes of that time actually using the equipment, you feel just the right amount of humiliation and inferiority to make you want to do this all again in a day or two but first you must shower in order to wash away the smell of defeat and shame. Guess who’s in the changing room?
The changing rooms at gyms were designed by someone with absolutely no sense of nakedness, either that or a deliciously cruel sense of humour. There is absolutely nowhere to hide in those places and so your only option is to unveil your least favourite physical failings for all to judge. If that isn’t bad enough, there they are; Ken/Barbie, still flexing, still bending, but this time, naked.
The “normal” person gets dried and dressed, head down, in under 2 minutes. The plastic gym doll will air dry, lunging round the changing room until all droplets of water have evaporated from sheer embarrassment. Then the dressing routine. You and I would start with undercrackers and build up from there. Not so the gym freak, as clearly that would prevent us witnessing pure perfection in all its glory and so they begin by drying their hair (still naked), putting on their watch (still naked), jewellery (naked), socks (you get the point), find their car keys, check their phone, book an appointment with their manicurist, think about discovering a cure for AIDS aaaaaand finally, some fabric touches their torso. Phew!
If you can stomach having a stranger’s undercarriage publicly thrust in your face after they’ve made you feel like a member of The Roly Polys for the best part of an hour, well, you’re a stronger person than I am and you should also consider a career as a gynaecologist. Personally, I’d rather just avoid paying for the whole humiliating and harrowing experience that is going to the gym and if I ever feel the urge to give it another whirl, I just follow 10 simple steps to snap me out of it. You’re welcome to try it too, and I won’t charge you the £1,000 non-refundable membership fee!
1. Select a music channel on your TV/radio station that plays nothing but inane second rate dance music circa 2001
2. Position images of impossibly muscled, smug looking models in eye line
2. Clear your laundry from the exercise bike/cross trainer that lurks in the corner of your spare room
3. Stand next to it for half an hour “waiting”
4. Give up
5. Do 45 seconds of hamstring stretches
6. Feign exhaustion
7. Head for the shower
8. Dry yourself in front of the window with the curtains open
9. Swear to do this again 4 times a week
10. Never do this again
Remember, you’re beautiful just the way you are, even when you wibble.
Next time someone asks why I don’t go to a gym I will thrust this post in their nosy face. Or direct them to your blog. That should bring you thousands, dare I say millions, of hits! Think of all the calories you’ll burn marveling at your inflated stats!
They would thank you, you would have saved them a lot of money and heartache.
Imagine the amazingly toned arms I would have from all the typing I did when I responded to each and every one of those millions. get cracking, summer’s on the way!
I’m sorry. I can’t leave a comment now because I am having a flashback to junior high gym classes where (OK imagine a panda playing volleyball, after being the last one picked for the team)…oh it’s too horrible to contemplate.
This post was brilliant and true. Thanks.
What i wouldn’t give for a gym that did not allow perfect people to work out in it. sigh….
Gym class at achool has been blocked from my memory until I’m rich enough to afford the therapy. Rope climbing and comunal showers. Nuff said.
There are actually gyms in the UK aimed specifically at “ladies with lumps”. Not sure about Pandas though.
Can’t I just lie on the couch and eat bon bons?
Of course you can, sweetheart! Save some room for me.
OK! (and I won’t try to make you look at pictures of adorable baby pandas while we eat!)
A wise move.
You have such an entertaining way of putting things. Once again you have shown me up!
Glad to have entertained and as for showing you up, you wouldn’t say that if you saw me in a gym kit.
Wow, what gym did YOU go to?
The YMCA that I’m a member of doesn’t have an Barbie or Ken’s in it. More the type of the 65+ geriatric crew. Occasionally, you’ll get the “Rocky Balboa” guy that has to grunt and moan his way through 100 pounds of weights. Or the high school cheerleader or field hockey player who has to keep fit. Yes, they sport the short shorts and tight t’s that send the quivering elderly’s in a tailspin causing them to be distracted from their treadmill pace for a moment or two. I have yet to try to pool. I started out trying all the equipment but decided I just needed some elliptical and treadmill. I refuse to jog. I speed walk. Since I don’t work, I don’t burn any energy at home. Hence, I don’t sleep. So this is an outlet for some pent up energy.
The one thing I loathe about these places? The smell.
The smell really is quite unique, isn’t it? I think it’s a mix of sweat, desperation and misery. 😉
And the pepperoni pizza that was for lunch! 😛
Yes ! “Infront of the TV !” The only way I can get through a decent workout is to focus on something else so Im not thinking “I hate this” or “is it time to quit yet?”
Distraction is key. My flatmate likes to help me with this by making farting noises everytime I perform a bendy yoga move. So kind of him.
no.flippin’.clue…… I think the only time I walked into a gym was……nope, can’t remember.
Really? You surprise me! I had you down as a total gym addict. Oh, sorry, wrong Rantonit. 😉
Lol, there’s another one of me? ….You’ve never been funnier woman .
They truly broke the mould when they made you. Broke a little mold, too.
ehehehh I think Imma revert to calling you mad old lady…..with lettuce. *be offended*
Very wise words. Went to the gym once. Pissed at the time. They wouldn’t let me in. Bastards!
Foolish cretins! Everyone knows people are AMAZING at everything when they’re drunk!
Now, a fitness centre with a fully stocked bar, THAT I could get on board with!
I used to use the gym at work but the aircon was so pants I finished sessions with an itchy throat! Urgh. What the hell was I breathing in? Nothing beats exercising outside in the fresh air (even in inner London) as against risking some Legionnaires Disease. And best of all, it’s free!
Crotch sweat, you were breathing in evapourating crotch sweat. I won’t sugar coat it for you.
I went to a gym once. I found bits of my body I didn’t know existed – the next day moving was torture! so I went back to beach runs and swims and horse rides. In other words, I lived!
You didn’t mention the ‘music’. I’ve heard tell they play the most atrocious stuff at full volume – is that to drown out the groans of torture perhaps? Or to stop people from thinking……
The atrocious music is true, see point number 1 on my list of ways to get the awful at-home gym experience.
Beach runs and swimming sounds brilliant. I used to ride horses but it’s terrible finding parking spots for them in London.
Reblogged this on Travels with Fred and commented:
This sounds really strange behaviour???!! Why don’t they do like us dogs do? We get out and have FUN!!
I don’t like gym people either….including me.
It’s a raging battle each day between Id, ego, and supergo.
SuperE always wins.
Ego tries to break it up, but in the end, Super E punishes Id in the gym daily.. like a ginger step child.
The battle lies within.
Yea, verily….the battle.
The fucking battle.
Ah yes, Siggy Freud wrote extensively on the battles of the gym. It was one of his greatest works until Fitness First paid the government to have it buried and “forgotten”.
I’s drunk when I wrote that.
Please disregard my rant
Even when inebriated, you’re more amusing than 99% of the people I come across every day. You rant on old bean, rant on!
(I particularly liked the ginger step kid gag)
it (my caustic post) was weighing heavy this morning.
I’ve said far worse when sober!
Imagine my horror at getting home from the gym and sitting down, naked, to read this!
I hope you put plastic sheeting on the sofa first!
It’s fine. I’m sitting in the front garden.
For the purposes of my own amusement, I’m imaging that you live in a quaint (yet busy) little village full of WI members, and the vicar cycles past every 10 minutes.
God I’ve missed these. Thanks for making my evening. I really have to catch up on the rest. 🙂
I’ve missed you too! Now, get up to speed, there’s a test in the morning.
Your posts have stopped being alerted in my feed, few people have reported that with others lately. I noticed it had been quiet and thought that can’t be true 🙂
Outrageous! I wondered why it was a bit slow last week. How could you doubt me? I’m always here, every Wednesday at 17:00 without fail, come rain, shine or really nasty sniffles.
I’ll keep an eye on it or WordPress will be feeling the brunt of my email complaint
It’s the moisturising routine that sends me running…..why oh why is it necessary to insist on balancing one foot on the bench to moisturising their toned legs NAKED. Put some pants on or as they are so flexible bend over, again preferably while in underwear. I now shower at home after the torture chamber!
There should be a law about how much of one’s undercarriage one is allowed to display in front of strangers. Home showering is the only answer in the mean time.
I had always wondered if it was only the women at my gym that choose to do EVERYTHING naked in the locker room? But I guess not?
Just like you mentioned at your gym…The women at my gym will do everything like their hair, makeup, put on jewelry, make phone calls, carry on conversations, etc, etc, completely naked.
There were a number of girls in gym class in high school that were that exact same way. If they wanted to talk to you, they’d do it completely naked.
There’s a certain sort of person that feels bearing that amount of nakedness is totally acceptable. I’m afraid to say that I think my mother may be one of them. Hopefully it isn’t hereditory…
Haha, this one’s hilarious! Yes, Ken and Barbie do exist in our midst to make us realize how insignificant, unworthy and ordinary we all are. 😉
It’s ok though, they get cellulite and saggy bits in the end. 😉
Haha – I am so with you on this one – people at the gym can drive me nuts. I am so unable to motivate myself though I have to do classes, otherwise I just cheat and pretend I’ve done longer on the running machine than I have. How stupid is that??
I used to say I had been to the gym when actually I just got in the pool and swam up to the jacuzzi where I spent the next half hour. Job done!
you’re my kind of woman!