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30 june 2000

i need to find a new gym

I need to find another gym before the year is over. Currently, I work out at a nice new YMCA on the west end of town. It's nice, and definitely too nice for a Y. I've belonged to the YMCA for years cause it's usually a regular-gal place to go. The problem here is that the West End is the cool place to live. Therefore, I don't live there, but my workplace is two minutes from the gym. You can see my quandary.

West End is where everyone moves to once they leave the fraternity or sorority house. They set up shop, breed, and create a Saturday morning rush hour on the way to their tadpoles' soccer games. I'm convinced that the only reason so many people put their kids in soccer is to let them loose on a field and let them know how they really feel. You ought to hear some of these parents. They come just short of yelling, "You missed that shot! I wish you were never born!"

Anyway, these are the folks with whom I share workout time. Aside from having to wait for Darci Nose Job to finish her fifteen-pound quad workout and tell her whiny friend about how Zach made the all-stars, the little things are getting to me. Like I can't ever find my car in the lot. It's always behind a 4WD Glacier Assault type of vehicle. Being as I usually leave the gym at 8:15 a.m. to get to work, I don't need to start my day playing Find the Civic. High gas prices don't seem to be enough vengeance for these clods.

If those people aren't bad enough, I am also surrounded by the ones who exercise while reading the Wall Street Journal, taking calls, and doing crossword puzzles. They perch on a bike, set up office, and send their legs on their merry way. What an efficient, automated, multi-tasking bunch, eh? I'm sure they would work out their torso, but it's busy, CHECKING STOCKS!

About the only thing keeping me at the Y right now (beside the $22/month membership fee) are the 'roid ragers. One guy in particular is like watching a one-man professional wrestling match. He's got all the traits--yellow eyes, weird nipples, icky skin. He approaches fitness with an aggressiveness you rarely witness, especially at the Y. My favorite part is when he situates himself in front of the mirror, grabs the lat machine handles, and does a full-body lunge toward the mirror. He grunts and growls throughout each rep, smacking a big wad of gum, sounding like the Tazmanian Devil right after Bugs Bunny got away. The dude is a freak.

And then there's me. I'm in the faded shorts and tank top, with socks I grabbed off the bedroom floor. I look like hell cause I rolled out of bed and drove straight here. But you'll probably see a sublime look on my face. I'm definitely not in autopilot, and sure as hell not on steroids. But it feels good to take an active role in just waking up. I couldn't bear to read or carry a phone to the gym. It's some of the best daydreaming time I've got.