Gym Wars – Continued


A man clearly invented these spandex work out pants that slide on as easy as a second skin laced with sand paper. I probably look like some kind of ape with my elbows pointing in and out attempting to squeeze my ass into the tiny black hole that is spandex. Typically, I would wear my most baggy covered up clothes to the gym with a cap and hope not to be noticed. Maybe I thought the extra exposed wobbly bits would encourage me to work just a bit harder. Instead, I felt myself continuously checking for a camel toe before bravely and finally leaving the woman’s locker room. I quickly tune into my gangster rap so I can build the confidence to walk the 20 steps to the nearest elliptical. I’m cut off by another determined woman, clearly more comfortable with the concept of a camel toe, and I wonder if that super power is what made her just a tad bit more speedy than myself. Panicked, I look around for a suitable machine that is comparable to that of the elliptical, which is really the only gym machine I know how to successfully use without looking like a complete idiot. I jump onto the curious looking machine directly next to her in a unnoticed attempt to say “this is actually what I meant to do, so there”. I painfully try to work this machine similar to the way that an elliptical works, but quickly realize though they are close in appearance they are not in the way that they move.

I’m not even sure what the hell this machine is. It takes strides but also teeny tiny little steps, my guess is to work your calves? I’m desperately trying to coordinate my body on this awkward beast when I see the reflection of two gym employees standing behind me appearing to be gawking at my spandexes ass becuase by this point it’s clear that they own me. My initial thought is to tighten my buns and straighten my back like a proud ostrich, I guess so as not to look saggy and old in my new found work out clothes. However, I am sure it translated more like the desperate mating call of a cat in heat arching her back and making that terrible sound, which is the sound I am convinced I must make moving in these pants. I’m squeezing my eyes closed hoping my Jedi mind tricks will kick in and sway their gaze elsewhere. Suddenly, I have a dreadful thought that perhaps they are in fact gawking at something appalling. Just then, I feel something inside my spandex scratching my rear up and down and I swear to myself if I’ve torn these horrible pants down the rear I’ll never return to this gym. So, here I am with this critical dilemma. Firstly, Pandora finally stopped playing commercials and started in with a dope Bone Thugs song which is just ghetto enough to bob too, but not so much that I feel like a bad person. Second, I have promised myself that I would spend at least 40 minutes on this stupid machine and there are 10 minutes left to go. Third, am I supposed to be wearing underwear with these things?

I can pull off 10 more minutes, that’s like 1 and a half gangster rap songs. The scratching intensifies and I pull my tank top down low in an effort to conceal any exposed skin that may or may not have occurred. I try to calm myself reminding my head that I am new to the world of spandex and perhaps they all just feel a bit airy. The staring continues followed by some pointing and arm punches back and forth. The clock isn’t moving “oh please just let this be over” I think to myself in an effort to calm my wobbly legs. At 8.5 minutes left, I finally give up, knowing that I still have to walk over, grab a sanitizer wipe and walk back all with the possibility that I am giving out way more than this crowd paid for. I keep my head down during the journey holding the false sense of security of a 5 year old and in my head chant that if “I can’t see them, they can’t see me, nah nah nah”! Wiping the machine down with the speed of light I run through the gym, past the gawking men and down the long flight of stairs. Cooley, I check my rear in the mirror relieved that there has been no tear, but realize my tags were in fact still attached and had been rubbing and poking out causing the airy sensation. I shower and change feeling pretty good that the gawking was probably more in a flattering way than anything that was humiliating.

Reaching the top of the stairs feeling triumphed and hot I see said employees exchange the same arm punch. Just before I return my ears to the sounds of gangster rap bliss, I over hear one of them state “I told you, next game was mine, now you owe me $50”. I stumble towards the front door and in the confusion catch a glimpse of my abandoned elliptical and then just above it where the football game had been playing. Well, I guess matters could have been worse. Much worse…..

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