To Gym or Not to Gym

Let’s face it.  I’m over the whole gym thing.

grumpy-cat gym

I started going to the gym a couple of decades ago.  I was a faithful worker-outerer to the point that I even got hired at the first gym I ever joined.  That started a semi-daily routine of college, gym, work, gym, shag the dupa out of bed, gym, and on and on and on.  I loved it.  I never got the body I always envied and saw on a daily basis, but I did discover biceps and pecs.

My sentiments exactly.

My sentiments exactly.

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Fast forward a few years and 1300 miles away, and I found myself starting the gym cycle all over again.  Just before moving to Florida, I had joined one of those large franchise gyms.  I was able to transfer the membership to one near my new apartment.  Once again I began the routine of gym, work, gym, sleep, gym, gymgymgymgymgymgym.  There was a different feel to the atmosphere which I chalked up to the fact that most people tend to live in bikinis and spandex in south Florida.  Most of them can.  I am not one of them.

gym3

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Over the next few years I bounced around different gyms, never finding one I REALLY liked.  Then, after moving, I figured I would try out another one of those big chain places, (cue the over dramatic music).  This place would turn me off gyms for life.  Or so I thought.

gym4

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I found I had crash landed on the planet of “I-don’t-really-care-if you’re-here-to-work-out-because-I’m-going-to-plop-my-ass-on-this-bench-with-every-set-of-free-weights-you-need-while-talking-to-my-buddies-and-text-the-entire-graduating-class-and-eventually-maybe-just-possibly-do-a-rep-or-two-but-no-you-can’t-borrow-that-set-of-dumbells.”  Feel my pain??  I put a screeching halt to the” I’m 17 and all of that” minions by simply picking up what I needed, doing what I needed to do and placing them back on the racks where they belonged in the first place.  Do you REALLY want to mess with a chick old enough to be your mother who’s pumping out flyes like nobody’s business?  No, I didn’t think so.

gym5

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I simply do not have the patience for people who refuse to rack their weights, hog the dumbbells, think the machines are places to hold what they believe are earth shattering conversations, walk around screaming into their cell phones and treat saunas like they’re frat parties.  I get it, they’re kids – obviously raised by packs of wild dogs who don’t know the first thing about the ever elusive concept of MANNERS.  However, when repeated complaints by multiple other patrons results in absolutely nothing being done to remedy the situation, I throw in the towel.  Literally.  After finding yet ANOTHER wet, mildewed towel that smelled like it had been fermenting for about a week, I dumped it on the manager’s desk, told them to cancel my membership and never returned again.  Ironically, by the time I got home, the manager had left a message on my machine, apologizing up, down, left and right, stating he would do whatever was necessary to make it right.  Really?  REALLY?!?  NOW you want to address my (and numerous) others concerns?!?

Aaaagggghhhh!!!!!

Aaaagggghhhh!!!!!

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Long story short: I never went back to a gym again.  Until now.  After all this time, and aggravation, you’d think I would have learned my lesson.  Oh contraire mon Frere!

Dollar Alert: Ever wonder what the mothers of wild dogs talk about? 

“Hey Marge, I think your Maxie just got himself stuck by a porcupine again.”

“I told him not to pee on that darn bush!”

So here I am once again pondering the possibility of returning to face my nemesis.  I have found that no matter how much cross training I do in the peaceful confines of my humble abode, it just isn’t enough to combat the evils of my ITBS.  I need to hit the machines again.  I need to work my way up the free weight racks.  I need to be in an environment where the phone isn’t ringing, I’m not tempted by the Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies calling my name from the next room and I’m not getting distracted by the Wonder Mutt giving me her sad come-play-with-me puppy eyes.  It’s time to take on the bratty, ill-mannered gym rats, and once again stake my claim in my little corner of the fitness world.  Who knows?  I may just end up looking like this in a bikini after all…

Abby-wearing-Affitnity-One-Shoulder-Sports-Bra1

Probably not.

Enjoy the ride.

How do you deal with rude people at the gym?

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3 thoughts on “To Gym or Not to Gym

  1. I vent to friends or on the blog about the rude people. My favourite rude d-bag was at the gym last night, right next to “my” treadmill. I passed on my fave treadmill to avoid his grossness. I wish I had the guts to say something….but sadly I do not. #fraidy-cat.

    • I worked at a gym a long time ago and we had one member who apparently did not subscribe to the world of deodorant. The poor manager had to follow her around the floor with a can of air freshener. Not really sure if she got it or not, but she didn’t last very long, much to the happiness of the other members. Yikes!

      • I can’t imagine having to do that. How does one not notice?

        Sadly, our gym has a customer service policy where the customer, no matter how much ‘wrong’ they do, still doesn’t do any wrong. It is horribly frustrating.

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