The gym is a funny place. I can't take it seriously sometimes and almost wish it were legal to take pictures with my cell phone.

There are so many people all crammed into one place; all so different, surprisingly. Everyone thinks going to the gym is so intimidating: especially in Orange County, especially in Huntington Beach. I find no fear. Those who fear it fear themselves.

Taking notice of my surroundings, I looked around me tonight as I usually do while chaining myself begrudgingly to the treadmill. I hate jogging in front of the mirror because I would rather not loath my panting--rather someone else's--hence the looking around.

Tonight was no different than any other day, afternoon or evening. The usual crowd was there, I just actually noticed tonight that among me were small societies lurking around.

First you have the overzealous employee at the front desk who welcomes you so happily that he is one bottle of champagne and an oversized Publisher's Clearing House check of too much.

Walking through the gym I run into the typical BBB: Buffed, Beautiful and bitchin. Scratch the bitchin though. These are the men who have arms that do not touch their sides, are wearing tank tops that are completely open from arm pit to waist line. Have silly tattoos of barbed wire around their upper arms and make excruciating faces when they are lifting, probably, too much.

Then you have the girl who is a little uncomfortable with herself being that every time she sees another girl slightly thinner than her, she turns up her nose and completely shrivels in her presence. She then stops her work out either early and goes home or keeps her nose buried in her book never looking up again to save her ego.

Often times, you say to yourself:

"Okay, I see why you are uncomfortable working out next to, uh, Janice Dickinson over there."

Looking over, you see a woman wearing enough makeup for the entire season four crew of America's Next Top Model. Her breasts are bigger than her head, her skin is glowing orange and she is wearing clothes so tight they double as a second layer of skin. Yet, she still doesn't sweat; odd, but expected.

Next: the guy in jeans. Oh, this guy has no intention of ever buying workout clothes, in fact he has never seen the inside of a Big 5 Sporting Goods let alone the active wear section of Kohl’s. He is in his Levi's and crew neck tee shirt and getting himself a complete work out--sweat and all—lifting and biking. Hell, I bet he goes in the sauna fully clothed.

Then there is the guy who loves himself as well as talking himself up. This guy typically wear’s a collegiate tee shirt, baseball hat--backwards--and athletic shorts. He is usually running on the treadmill and usually, always, keeping eye contact with himself in the mirror in front of him. In fact, I occasionally see this type of breed mouthing to himself: "yeah, you got it, it’s all you big guy!"

Lastly: the elderly man, or woman (but usually man), who has no clue how to use any weight machine. This old man is too stubborn and set in his ways to ask for help; his wife Gladys probably signed him up for the gym to get him out of the house. So every day, he studies each weight machine as if it were a math problem. He watches others as they work out and ponders their intent of wanting to look so fit. He wonders why there is a guy working out in Levi's and why that guy wearing the FUCLA tee shirt is winking at himself in the mirror. He walks around the gym for about an hour and that is his workout. Membership well paid for.

Like I said, I can't help but laugh a little.

1 comment

  1. Sooo true. So so so true. I'm actually half way through writing a blog about something similar. You'll see haha.




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