Gym musings

I realise this is probably not a Madrid, or even Spain-specific post.. but... here goes.

I really like my gym, for the most part. It's an easy walk from home through pretty gardens and our generally lovely neighbourhood, and it has a lot of machines and free weights and barbells, dumbbells so you never really have to wait for anything for too long. The staff are pleasant and smiley and know I don't speak Spanish so make an effort to say 'hello' to me which I think is sweet. I usually get there early, and it still smells of the vacuuming and sanitiser that's been liberally applied to every (I hope) surface - because towels are not compulsory. WHAT THE HELL!? How are towels not compulsory? They're not even suggested! So many sweaty dudes are dripping all over every surface and some days I feel like slapping a dude upside the head and pointing to all the man funk he's left behind. Unless I am sleeping with you, I really do not want your sweat on my body. I thought this was a fairly universal concept; apparently I can be wrong on such things. Yesterday, I had to go ask the front desk for some sanitiser and wipes so I could clean up a puddle - I kid not, dear reader - a puddle of sweat that some inconsiderate mid-20s wannabe lothario had left behind. It took a lot of gesticulating and using broken Spanglish to get my message across, but eventually the tiniest gym bunny you'll ever see (really, she's delightful, I'd put her at around 5ft tall, a size 0 and most of it muscle, she's worked hard for every gram of it too, I'd bet on it) followed me with more paper towel that I thought was necessary and even she, who works around sweat all day looked disgusted. She thoroughly wiped down the bench for me and smiled, and I went to work doing my rows. This brings me to the topic of today's rant (yes, I actually have one):

People Who Need A Smack At the Gym

1. The sweaty dude who shuns towels
You know this guy I'm sure. He's sweating it up all over the place, dripping like he's a goddamn water fountain, spraying sweat all over the cardio machines and leaving pools of it on the benches and weight machines. Apparently towels are bad for his health, because he never even has one with him, let alone uses one. Or possibly worse - I'm not sure which is worse, to be honest - he has a towel, and it lays neatly folded at his feet, which creates this urge within you to yell USE IT! IT IS NOT DECORATIVE! ARRRGHHHH!! We have a couple of these that I've noticed at my gym, and they are driving me crazy. If I could somehow pre-empt their movements, I would make sure I was always a machine ahead. Sadly, I seem to arrive thirty minutes after them, and they've already slicked up all the surfaces I wish to touch with their man funk. Perhaps they think it's a statement of how hard they've worked? Or their virility? Or perhaps their mothers need a kick too because they're completely bloody oblivious.

2. The guy who thinks the gym is a pickup zone
I can honestly say, I have never ever gone to the gym with any intention or desire to be hit on. I really just want to get in there, work as hard as I can motivate myself to do, burn as much as I can muster, lift as heavy as I can manage, hit fatigue and go home. Most days I don't even brush my hair before I go (but I always brush my teeth before I go! Shout out to Jayvan Ruddick-Collins who knows my minty-fresh breath on gym mornings!), my clothes *barely* match and the latest ovulation pimple is on full display for the world to see. I don't even make eye contact with other gym-goers most days, because I'm really not that fucking interested in what Muscles McGee over here slamming weights is doing. If I look in the mirrors, it's not so I can flip my hair over my shoulder and smile brilliantly at any nearby males, it so I can make sure my dodgy shoulder isn't rotating forward, or my back is straight, or I'm squatting deep enough. Some mornings I see myself for the first time that day when I'm correcting my form and I think "geez what the hell is going on with your hair this morning?!" - but then I get back to working out, because that is what I'm here for. So it irritates to me to no end, that the last week I have had to deal with a couple of numpties who somehow believe my mere presence at the gym means I'm interested in them.

Guy A: So I'm running flat out on the treadmill (current cardio is High Intensity Interval Training, so when I say flat out, I mean FLAT OUT), my earbuds jammed firmly in my skull, listening to Galvanize (omg how good is that song!), and this dude who honestly looks like I could be his mother, is working on the machines behind me. Groovy. I've got big mirrors in front of me, so I'm checking my form and trying to breath properly and hit the treadmill lightly and make sure my knees aren't all wonky, and next thing I know, Chuckles here is coming over because APPARENTLY if you look in his direction (e.g. behind myself) it's an invitation. Then he's on the treadmill next to me, I see him check my speed so of course he has to match it, despite being pint-sized and having no hope in hell of hitting the speed I can with my long legs (thank you genetics) - he's one of those guys, who just has to be bigger, better. Can't let "a girl" be better than him. Eesh. Anyway, next thing he's grinning at me in the mirrors, trying to get my attention. Naturally, I turned up the volume on Galvanize and continued doing what I was doing, paying him no attention. He damn nearly killed himself trying to keep up the speed and eventually had to give up and get off the treadmill and slink to the back of the room. Really?! REALLY?! WHILE I'M RUNNING?! You think now is a good time?!

Guy B: This one just blew my mind. Again, on the treadmill, doing my HIIT, and this idiot actually came up to the mirrors next to me, did that head-raise nod "how you doin'?" thing and then lifted his shirt and pointed to his abs. I just.. I can't.. I don't even have words enough in Spanglish to tell him what a fucking idiot he made of himself. I actually snort-laughed (which screwed up my breathing for my running - so thank you for that, asshole) and almost missed a step I thought it was so ludicrous. You know how you sometimes meet someone and think "I wonder why they're single?" - I will never wonder why this idgit is single. Good Lord.

Guy C:  The follower.  He actually followed me around the gym.  Stopped what he was doing when he saw me come in, and followed me from machine to machine.  When I left, I checked over my shoulder to make sure he wasn't going to continue the trend, and follow me home.  Creepy. *shiver*

3. The girl who thinks the gym is a pickup zone
HER. I HATE HER. She's making life difficult for the rest of us who are just trying to bloody well work-out and not have to deal with idiots as mentioned above. She's got her perfectly coiffed, long hair (as long as mine, the one I'm thinking of in particular) out. I mean.. not tied back/up/away. It's all flowing tresses beautifully manicured that if we were out on the street I'd think pleasant thoughts about, but in here, with her flicking it over her shoulder and smiling hopefully at the wannabe lotharios, I just want to witness it catch in the treadmill belt. Ok ok ok maybe I don't have quite so violent thoughts all the time, but really. How is that even remotely comfortable? I can barely deal with my hair out and flowing around my like some goddamn watery veil with its own life force when I am out in public and trying to look pretty for A.  She's wearing makeup, and totally cute matching outfits, from her shoelaces to her earrings (yes people - earrings at the gym), and I swear to god she's walking at a speed my grandmother would snort at.  She is the reason why the rest of us honest-to-god-I'm-just-here-to-exercise people are getting annoyed.  Although - can't the dudes see the difference between my sweaty-plastered-to-my-head (yet somehow, magically, with tufty peaks & horns sticking out the side of my head) hair, and her just-been-blowdried hair? And our outfits? I look like I'm wearing my big sister's hand-me-down clothes half the time - she looks like she's just bought the latest outfits as seen on the cover of a glossy Nike magazine.  EESH.

4.  The inconsiderates - all lumped together
I'm talking about the weight slammers who make you jump every 10 reps because the weights are too damn heavy for them to adequately handle (but don't tell their fragile masculinity that); or the dudes who somehow manage to take over all three benches when there's only two of them (!!); or the guy this morning who, when I was attempting a PB at deadlifts, came over and got up in my face and asked if I was using the bench (YES - THAT IS WHY MY STUFF IS ON IT), causing me to stop mid-set and thus not really know if I achieved my PB or not, so I could move my stuff off the bench because I thought he had some desperate time-sensitive need to use it.. only to watch him put his towel on it and then walk away to use the tricep pull-down machine ten metres away.

I tell you folks, I just shake my head.  We do have some interesting and amusing characters at my gym though, people who routinely make me smile and appreciate the variety of life.  There's a couple of guys who work out very seriously and who do it together, encouraging and supporting and spotting for each other, pushing each other to achieve heavier, faster, better.  I love those guys, I love watching them egg each other on, cheer each other.  Makes me yearn for some of my friends back home.  There's the dude who is seriously in his late 70s, who wears the most obscenely short-shorts but who has the most killer legs and thus can wear them without ridicule.  There's the girl who seems quite sweet and normal, asking me for advice on how to execute various exercises, who I wish I could see again because I think I've finally mustered up the courage to ask her out (on a friend date - settle down people..); the girl who makes these cute little snorting noises when she's doing her workout; the guy who works so damn hard at bulking up and has the most serious look of concentration on his face when he's doing his shoulder routine.  Then of course, the guy who looks like the Dude's landlord (The Big Lebowsky) including his clothing, who does his chest press with his legs crossed in the air.

All things considered, it is still a consistent highlight of my day.  Got any gym stories you'd like to share?

Lemme know!
M x