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Friday Afternoon Gym Fiasco

Posted July 12, 2008

I just wanted a nice, peaceful workout. It was Friday afternoon, around 5 pm, and it was my time to blast Atreyu, Aerosmith, and toss in a little Chris Brown with that while I hit the weights and abandoned thoughts of work for at least the new two days.

Ahh, but I should've known that it is never that simple. After all - no matter what anyone tells you - the "real world" is simply an extension of high school, only with bills, full-time jobs, kids, and responsibilities. Oh, and that strange kid you remember from 9th grade who thought nobody would notice the methane overload that he/she was emitting into that ventless, stuffy, 15x15 classroom. You know...THAT one. And that's where the innocent gym visit yesterday begins to go awry.

So I was finishing my 4th set of squats when I realized that the problematic character, whom we shall identify as Blondie Gas MacFarterson, was flouncing about behind me talking on her pink cell phone and bouncing back and forth between the leg press and the squat rack. Fair enough...though I'm not exactly sure how one squats properly while yabbering on the phone. And THAT, my friends, is when it hit me.

Jonathan walked over to see how my workout was going and I immediately accused him.

"WHAT are you doing?" I whispered.

"What?! That wasn't me! Seriously...that is NOT my brand, you know that!" he replied. The sad thing is...upon second sniff, I knew he was telling the truth. We had an invader in our midst. Given the sparse crowd at the gym on Friday nights and the fact that we were all alone with just one other person in our vicinity, we both glanced away with a horrified look.

It was Blondie Gas MacFarterson.

And then there were three. (Cue the dramatic horror movie music)

After relocating to a place where it was safe to breathe, I resumed with shoulder presses. Apparently MacFarterson needed to work her shoulders as well, because within 5 minutes, there she was. Now off the phone, she could devote her full energy to working her delts...and suffocating her fellow gymgoers. At this point, it was me, MacFarterson, and 5 guys, so nobody was going to expect the two dainty ladies. But still, a horrible experience all around.

This continued on for roughly an hour and 15 minutes until I completed my stink-laden, gag-inducing workout. One thing is for sure, my determination shall not be questioned after yesterday's experience. It was as if she was following me on purpose - every station I approached, MacFarterson could be seen trailing me like Wesley from "The Princess Bride," dragging me through her own personal Fire Swamp without so much as asking me if I minded.

But then there was the other nemesis I ran up against yesterday: Snot-Nose Trainer Chick. She's still a relatively novel addition to the gym staff, but she's definitely made quite an impression on me already. Until meeting Snot-Nose Trainer Chick, I'd never quite experienced what it was like to have someone with a vacant stare attempt to roll their eyes at you. Somewhat like a very intoxicated person trying desperately to nap...but that's neither here nor there.

The point is, combining the nebulous green cloud that seemed to accompany Blondie Gas MacFarterson with the self-righteous, all-black-wearing, poufy-haired majesty of Snot-Nose Trainer Chick...well, where do you go from there? There I was, club-sandwiched between a reverse hyperextension apparatus, the gassiest woman I've ever encountered in my adult life, and a mediocre excuse for an athletic professional who was shooting eye-daggers at me for no reason. At this point, ritual tattooing sounded like a much more bearable alternative.

When I finally finished up, the fresh air outside, coupled with the freedom from weird, baseless, and arrogant glares from fellow brunettes - well, it was just pure paradise.

Sometimes, you have to experience an hour of torture to understand how good you have it. Happy Weekend, readers!