A Humorous Perspective on Choosing a New Gym

[Spiral]

Working Out a New Gym"

As a former college football player, working out has been a big part of my life. While playing for Harvard, I would join my teammates four times a week in the weight room for an intense workout designed to maximize grunting and the thickness of our necks. I became very accustomed to this lifestyle, so when I graduated college this spring and moved back home, it took me awhile to accept that I no longer have a free, state-of-the-art weight room at my disposal. I felt an overwhelming desire to keep both my muscles and ego inflated, and soon found myself looking to join a gym around town.

I hoped to join a badass weight room, or 'Arm Farm', as we referred to it in college. A place where guys with names like 'Rocco' and 'Mack' only take breaks from bench-pressing to drink raw eggs. Instead, I found myself signing up for a 'Couples Membership' with my mom at a 'Fitness Center' named after the 19th century transcendentalist, philosopher, and body builder, Henry David Thoreau.
Walking into the fitness center for the first time, I immediately noticed several differences between the 'Thoreau Club' and my old weight room. First, there were no signs anywhere reminding the members to refrain, if possible, from spitting on the floor. There were plenty of signs for workout classes, however. Apparently, these 'wellness classes' involve a group of people trying to repeat the movements of a much more flexible and attractive instructor, all while in a room covered with mirrors to constantly remind everyone of how out of shape they are. I saw a sign for a 'Pilates' class, but when I asked the receptionist what 'pilots' were, she just shook her head and directed me to their lone bench-press.

Upon entering the work out area, I immediately established myself as the strongest member in the history of the club. I would be more proud of this accomplishment if there was anyone remotely close to my age in the club. I suppose I should have expected an older demographic at a fitness center whose brochure boasts of 'a beautiful wooded setting, a relaxing atmosphere and a variety of wellness and recreation activities'. I heard a cheer coming from several older gentlemen who were watching mounted TVs while exercising on the ellipticals. 'Oh good,' I thought, 'the Red Sox must have just scored.' I walked over to the TVs to check the score, only to discover that these men were actually giving each other high-fives because of the current headline on CNBC: 'Dollar Rallies From Record Low Against Euro.'

Next, I headed over to the treadmills for a quick run. These treadmills were much fancier than the ones that I?m used to, with a control panel similar to that of a 747, only with more buttons. I randomly pressed a bunch of them, and before I knew it I was running at a pretty brisk pace and building up a good sweat. After a few minutes, I heard what sounded like a whimper coming from the treadmill next to me. I quickly glanced over but didn't see anyone. Now the whimper turned into words: 'Excuse me?' It turned out that there was, in fact, someone on my neighboring treadmill ?I just didn?t see her when I first looked over because she was a little old lady who stood at 4 foot 10, tops. 'Sorry to bother you, sir, but, you're dripping on me.'

I stopped my treadmill and looked at her. Her sneakers as white as snow. The skin of her hands as delicate as paper. Her fine, gray, hair glistening with dozens of droplets of my sweat.

This poor woman. How long had she been enduring my perspiration shower before she spoke up? She had been taking a leisurely 1 mph walk on the treadmill and reading the latest issue of 'Sew News Magazine', only to get drenched by an assault of sweat bullets from some hairy beast who was making noises like a moose in mating season as he gasped for air. I apologized profusely. 'It's alright,' she explained, 'You know, when I was your age I used to sweat that much too!'

Suddenly, I was just as grossed out by her as she was by me.