It’s time to get that workout in, and it looks like this Saturday will be the day.
You haven’t been able to get in a proper workout at the gym in months, and you’re especially ecstatic that for once, you have nothing on the agenda that will take the attention of you, yourself, and you.
You head to the gym looking just about short of phenomenally awesome, rocking that new workout gear that you had been eyeing on the Nike website for quite some time. It suits you too. You look like a million bucks.
Go head and whip your hair girl, whip it.
You walk into the gym and swipe your card proudly, alerting all the patrons in the gym that you, yes you, have arrived. You head to the lockers and pull out your locker key. Damn. It’s been so long since you’ve used it, you’ve forgotten your locker number!
No matter. You peruse the locker room for a bit hoping to jog your memory.
Ah, yes. Locker number 11. It’s your lucky number. How did you ever forget? When you open it up it’s like a beam of holy light has just doused your face. You’re all, “Hello, God? Can you hear me? It’s me Margaret.” Then you toss your stuff in.
Off to the treadmill you go, nothing can stop you now. Your smile spreads across your face as you slowly walk/jog over – they can’t touch you I tell you, not by a long shot.
But just as you are about to step on, an overweight man rudely muscles you out the way.
You stop short, looking around. Did anyone else just see that? You look back to see the hairy guy adjusting the levels. He gives you a quick, ‘Sorry, maybe next time,’ wave, as he turns around and proceeds to do a brisk walk.
Whatever. You begin to head to another one but realize that they have all filled up. No matter. You need to climb some stairs to get those legs back to summertime fine, anyway. Ah yes, the be-all end-all purpose: summertime-fine.
You head to the elliptical.
15 minutes later you’re working up a sweat. Oh, these calves are going to be so sharp they cut fruit! You’re in the zone. But just as soon as you’re entering mile 2, you hear an obnoxious grunt.
Admittedly, it frightens you a bit. Suddenly you get a flashback of something you watched on National Geographic last night. It was mating season. Two huge walrus seals were battling over a female for rights to breed her. They were going at it too, hitting each other with the strength of Jehovah! One just had to die.
You look over.
You see two gigantic men, and not just regular gigantic, but like, working out for the weight competition gigantic – bench pressing something like 500lbs – loudly. All while ogling a girl who happened to be daintily walking on the stair stepper next to them.
National Geographic meets the gym.
Unfortunately for you, the grunts become that much more unbearable. So you decide to hop off the elliptical to see if you can find something a bit less annoying for you to engage in.
You head to a private room in the back, where it seems there are only two people working out, and both are in their separate corners of the room. Perfect. Time to get those crunches in.
Summertime-fine, you think. Summertime-fine.
As if on cue a parade of cheerleaders enters into the room. What the hell? Are they practicing or something? Why are their shorts so short? What is going on? These cheerleaders look extra happy. One even comes in and does a cartwheel. WTF? This solely reminds you of why you hated cheerleaders in high school.
But wait, there are poles in the room.
For some reason, you didn’t notice them before. In fact, you don’t know how you missed them because there about three poles smashed into the center of the room horizontally.
And by God! Now these cheerleaders are trying to hang from them! What type of cheerleading camp is this??
A girl taps you on the shoulder as you look up. You realize that you’re still in mid crunch while you’ve been gawking at all of this. The girl offers you a hand to pull you up.
“Will you be joining our pole-dancing class tonight?” She asks cheerfully.
Pole-dancing? Ah, yes. This makes sense. They aren’t cheerleaders.
You look around at the other girls who are now staring at you as if you’re the reason the whole session cannot begin.
“Sure.” You say. You aren’t afraid of a little competition. You got this! You start flexing in the mirror. After all, momma didn’t raise no chumps! You head to the end of the line, waiting for further instructions.
Three girls, who may be the instructors, take each of the poles in the middle, and begin climbing them. All you see are muscles popping out of their arms and legs as they hoist themselves up to the top.
This is amazing.
All of a sudden, two of the girls do a trick with their legs, and are effortlessly able to suspend in the air for nearly a minute. The third girl flips upside down, and just hangs there.
Is this magic? This must be magic. For Christ sakes, they are still up there!
You look down at your arms. They aren’t bad, but they certainly don’t look like they could even remotely get to the middle of the pole.
Other girls are pushing in front of you now. This sudden rivalry to climb the pole seems a bit too intense for you. It’s turned into a violent competition of girls in short-shorts. And you, you who is just trying to get summertime-fine, is not ready for this bevy of girls-turned cheerleaders-turned strippers.
Irritated, and a bit confused, you slink out the door quietly, and head for the lockers. Forget this madness. Next time you go to the gym, you’re coming on a Tuesday.
What annoys you at the gym?