PlatKat.com: Pumping Up My Stabbin' Arm

Saturday, March 08, 2008

Pumping Up My Stabbin' Arm

I don't know how something as simple as going to the gym got so annoying, but without fail, there's always gotta be someone in there messin' with my mojo. Lately, it's been a punk I'll call Rubber Boy.

Rubber Boy appears to be college-age and fancies himself a weight lifter. He earned his name for the manner in which he bouncily pushes and pulls and lifts at each weight machine before moving to the free weights, which he airily swings around like cheap dishes at a Waffle House. He has no control, no understanding of resistance, no attention for anything at all really. It is very frustrating to watch.

YOU'RE GOING TO GET INJURED DOING THAT!! I want to scream. But I'm sure it would do no good. Even if he were interested in lifting weights correctly and wanted my help, the burden would then be on me to show him how to do everything correctly. I do alright for myself, but I'm not a licensed personal trainer, and I'm certainly not going to waste my time giving free advice.

Watching this guy bound from machine to machine, I almost want to offer him money to get professional help.

"Here's 200 dollars. Don't let me see you in here again without someone to show you just how wrong you're doing everything."

Yeah, I don't see that happening.

While I'm on the topic, I should mention that the gym in my apartment complex is lined with windows on one side, and the doors are glass. This means anyone going out or coming in the main building can see inside. It kind of makes me feel like I'm a hamster running on a wheel and several nine-year-olds are curiously eyeing me, unaware of their bold intrusiveness.

Usually people look, which is natural to do if you see something moving as you pass by. And if they look longer than a second, I flash them the glare, and if that still doesn't work, I give them the finger. (It doesn't usually come to that.)

The other day there was a guy, seemingly young, heading out dressed for work I assume, and he stood in front of the doors looking in at me for what seemed like an eternity. I gave him the glare, and he kept looking at me like a fucking retard.

No, I'm not staring at you. I'm not checking you out. I don't want you to check me out. I am trying to exercise and you are gawking at me like a punk. Stop it.

I seriously wonder how Seattle men can be so clueless. I need to make a better effort to get up extra-extra early to work out in peace. Complete solitude, save for the petite blonde who I sometimes see in the early morning hours. I'm all for minding my own business, so I'm not going to ask her, but I would bet money she works out that early for the same reason I do/should.

posted by platkat @ 5:17 PM