This morning, I was really excited because I saw “an” ab. That’s right, one abdominal muscle. Much less a “six-pack”, much more a “single” hiding beneath a paper bag. All the same, it is an ab.
Naturally, I took copious photos and texted them to friends and then ate a tub of ice cream to congratulate myself on the debut of my super hot ab. All that got me thinkin’. Turns out, I really love my gym. Here are 5 reasons why:
- I really, really, so much like making the owner of my gym uncomfortable. It is one of my very favorite things to do. Is that “nice”? Not really. But I pay him and I feel that makes it somewhat justifiable. He is an excellent candidate for my amusement because he has that slight social awkwardness mixed with the “when I drink, I’m hilarious” vibe. It’s the perfect combination – I know he can take it, but I also know that in day-to-day life, he doesn’t have the appropriately quick responses to my sarcasm. Thus, he is reduced to nervous laughter and awkward eye contact. Fidgety hands are a bonus!
- When I waltz in carrying a huge Sonic Iced Tea – unsweetened, thank you very much – no one judges me because it’s not water. At least not openly. (They judge me on why I’m waltzing instead of walking. Who am I, Ginger Rogers?) For all they know, it’s purified water from an enchanted forest that I harvested from the tears of fairies. And I’ve had more than one person nod approvingly when they noticed the absence of my flask, so…
- The people are really friendly. Need a spotter? Wanna talk protein? Need me to look the other way while you make muscles in the mirror and take selfies? You got it. No one assumes the machines are free or that you aren’t about to use that set of dumbbells. We all do the thing where you gesture the universal version of gym sign language while simultaneously mouthing, “Are you using that?” It’s gym etiquette because no one can hear shit with their headphones on and it’s really fun to pretend we’re all a bunch of drunken Italians, frantically waving our arms in the air. Ok, one of us actually is a drunken Italian (hand goes up), but the analogy still applies.
- The machines and equipment aren’t so high-tech that I have to take a two-week training on how to properly begin using them without looking like an asshole. I prefer to save those moments for when I drop a weight on my toe or fall off the elliptical.
- If you take an aesthetic average of all members, it would come out to be, well, average. Some members are above average specimens of sex appeal and some slightly more “beautiful on the inside”. This creates a harmonious balance of solid Grade B looks. Why does this matter? I’m supposed to say that it doesn’t. But if you pretend that working out next to a bunch of Housewives of Some City or Channing Tatum isn’t intimidating as hell, well then, you’re a liar and your pants are on fire. If your gym is filled with babes of either gender, you’re gonna feel bad about yourself and you’re not gonna come back. I pulled the pin; truth bomb just exploded.
P.S. It’s also a stones throw from my house, very clean and relatively affordable, but none of that is funny so…
P.P.S. Number of alcohol references in this post: 5, Number of times I seem like a meanie: 0 (Ok, I know #1 & #5 make me seem a bit like a wench.)
P.P.P.S (?) I’m not an alcoholic or a meanie. And I have a single, so watch what you say about me.