Friday Night Gym Posse
Yeah, I know what you are thinking. I live a very glamorous life. Friday night at the gym is a treat. The energy is rock bottom but a few people who, like me, decide to forego a happy hour or nice dinner, and opt instead for a couple of hours in a gym.
This group of like-minded folks are an unlikely grouping. It’s not as angst laden as the Breakfast Club or as one-dimensional as the castaways on Gilligan’s Island. This is a team of people who I cannot say with confidence could stand up and fight together as a team should the need arise.
- Justin Bieber’s lookalike. All dictators and celebrities keep them on retainer for purposes of alibi corroboration, mass mis-direction and paparazzi hooliganism. The JB lookalike at my gym continues to work on his fitness. His hair remains unaffected by his efforts all the while he’s thinking, “put me in coach.”
- The mustache man on the elliptical wearing a polo shirt. He has it right with the trainers and the sweat pants, but the collared shirt is screaming “I’m not from around here.” This mustache man’s distinctive style on the elliptical looks like he’s riding a stand up jet ski. As if the elliptical has momentum of its own, he’s attempting to steer the thing and looks both elated and distressed.
- The very elderly woman on the treadmill in jeans. She’s not training. She is out, after dinner, getting a little circulation therapy and fighting the good fight against bone density loss. While I find the cardio loft to be just this side of intolerably hot when I’m wearing a tank top and shorts, she is covered, wrist to toes. Her shirt is tightly buttoned against her neck.
- The personal trainer. This guy is very personable. Naturally optimistic, he appears a little lost without a few people looking to him for guidance and encouragement. Already red-faced and soaked, I look away when he tries to catch my eye. As nice as he is, this socializing while dripping and panting just won’t work for me.
- The employee with Friday night plans. Our very existence offends this young lady. She’s mopping and cleaning and doing her very best to ensure that she will be locking the doors as she walks out the doors with those of us who clearly need to find a life.
- Me. Clearly someone trying to crush all the week’s frustrations underfoot. Red, sweaty and wheezing ever so slightly, I am exuding the don’t look at me, talk to me or otherwise be decent vibe. I’m fully submerged in my bubble in an effort to channel everything I’ve got into my legs. If anyone does dare to peep my way, they are overcome with internal conflict. Call for medical attention or run away?
It is now Saturday morning. I have slept on this and I’m a little disappointed I didn’t have an opportunity to organize this unwitting group into a noteworthy posse. Next Friday I’m taking down names.