You Must Work Out

Unfortunately when it comes to anything competitive I have been hardwired with one speed. Some call it “tenacious”, others “aggressive”, and still others “just plain dirty”. I often find myself apologizing before a game has been played or a mile has been run. If you invite me to compete, I’m bringing my A game, I’m sorry if you “just wanted to have fun”. I’m not that kind of guy.

Much of my “mean ass sneer” was burned into me by playing high school basketball against kids who were far more athletically gifted than myself. My junior year everyday in practice I went up against a University of Wisconsin Fullback, and my senior year against Cody Moffett who recently reached the 1,000-point mark at Manhattanville University (Congrats Bud!). The summers provided no rest for the weary, hard fought battles in the Berkshires hardened me further. If I wanted playing time, I had to fight every time I walked onto the court. Today I still carry a chip on my shoulder, only now it is relegated to the gym.

Today I submit to you a list of things that annoy the fuck out of me in said arena. Trouble is I don’t know if I have a legitimate gripe or not. Am I just being an ornery son of a bitch or do I have a point? Please judge for yourself and let me know.

 ·   Chubby Trainers: In a recent conversation with Doctor Feel Good, I commented that he lost a bunch of weight. He responded: “The first day of medical school they asked us if we thought ‘any obese patient would listen to us about losing weight if we were fat.’” I think trainers should answer to a similar standard. If you are kicking my ass and advising me on how to be skinny, fit, or muscular, personally I would prefer that you were skinny, fit, or muscular. It boggles my mind when I see a dude taking orders from a trainer who looks like Ricky Gervais. I liken it to having an SAT tutor who went to community college. Not sure I see the logic.

·   Sleeves: Wear them, seriously everyone, please wear sleeves. I don’t want to see your upper arm flab, your tribal war symbol, that spot I didn’t know hair grew, or your eczema. Girls if you’re not wearing sleeves, you’re wearing a tank top. That means while you’re on the bike, treadmill, stair master, or elliptical you’re bouncing more than one of Snoop’s Cadillacs. Don’t get me wrong, I fucking love it, but the last thing I need to do is a pop an inadvertent woody on my way to the showers. Oh and for those guys out there who think, “I’m ripped its cool I need to show everyone”. I understand that you need your spot in the sun, but you look like an ass-clown. There’s an old Roman proverb “Beware of the man of one book”, your book is the gym, I am wary of you.

·   Lat Fly Machines: I’ve enclosed a picture of this machine. This is the most used piece of equipment at the gym and there is always only one. What really gets my gonads is that people treat it like a lounge chair. They will casually do one set…..check the clock……look at the girls on the treadmill………..take a drink……..check the clock……..look at the girls on the elliptical…wipe their brow….take another drink…...look at the girls on the stairmaster…..wipe their brow….take another drink……JIMINY CRICKETS! This is a weight lifting machine, not the best seat in the house to watch “American Pie IX: Titties at the Gym”. Move along so I can use this equipment for the more noble purpose it was intended.

·   Mirrors: The best part of watching individuals watching themselves is the faces they make in the mirror. The wide array of smirks and grimaces are nothing short of hilarious. There is just one thing that irks me. I understand that people make funny faces when they can’t see themselves lifting. But if you are looking right at yourself in the mirror, why do you insist on making that goofy ass face? I guess you think you look hard; I think you look like you just ate three bags of Sour Patch Kids.

·   Nudity: This must be a generational difference like handkerchiefs. I thought we already covered this, but apparently the individuals who needed to get the memo only use the Internet for chain letters. Thursday of last week I was sitting down in front of my locker. As I am taking off my sneakers, I see flesh approaching out of the corner of my right eye. Across my view strides a man of seventy years (or more) wearing only white Wilson sneakers and knee high white socks. His trouser snake waves at me as if we were old pals, and his balls bounce as if they were part of a Disney sing along. I do not chase these images these images chase me. This is your second warning old man, put on some clothes or get ready to throw down.

I appreciate you indulging me, especially those of you who aren’t uppity gym goers like myself. Perhaps you could leave me an honest appraisal of my gripes in the comments section. As always, I am your humble servant Teddy Jones and this right here is The Gumption.