J: 10/30/02

Work Diary, 10/30/02

I've joined a new gym. It's about ten times as large as my old one, and
comes with the usual assortment of torture devices, scantily clad
Barbies, and brutish thug types with steroids for blood. All of the
folks from the old gym have moved over, as well. We smile sheepishly at
one another in a way that suggests, "Yes, I know I've spent many a
grisly morning with you, but I can't remember your name, so please keep
walking."

While at this new gym, I typically walk around until I see some device
that looks promising. I then officiously adjust the weights, seat
height, backrest, and any other gizmos the device features. I push,
pull, and hurt myself for a bit, take a breather, and start the whole
process over again. Though I try not to, I sometimes catch a glimpse of
myself in the gym's many mirrors: Thirty-something man in an old
T-shirt, glasses, ugly running shoes, and swimming trunks. Not a bad
picture overall, though he could do with a tan.

Televisions hang like sentinels from the gym ceiling. Each is tuned to
its own radio station; anyone with a walkman can tune into that station
and hear the broadcast. I don't have a walkman but this set-up appears
infinitely more preferable to the people trying to read books or
magazines while exercising. Reading should be pleasurable - combining
it with the agony of stair climbing or jogging seems masochistic.

I have to wear my glasses while there. I tried leaving them in my
locker, but became lost when I went down a ramp into the subterranean
basketball courts. Also, without my glasses, the equipment becomes one
fuzzy, geometric shape after another. This is not surprising, of
course, since exercise equipment is patently unnatural and hardly
something a human being would recognize by feel or touch alone.

Wearing one's glasses while working out has some disturbing side
effects. I have been flashed by both sexes so many times that I'm
beginning to think the other gym members are doing it on purpose. I may
wear a $4.00 swimsuit while I work out, but I'm always careful that my
business stays safely tucked away in its little mesh net. I'm currently
training myself to keep my eyes above waist level, thus avoiding
further run-ins with other people's unleashed critters.

I have also seen:

1. A woman who burst into tears as her husband screamed at her, "PUSH!
PUSH! PUSH!" He sounded like some sort of deranged Lamaze coach. She
escaped into the ladies' locker room, where he could not follow.

2. A real live drug deal, unless it is the habit of the gym members to
exchange tiny red capsules kept in Ziploc bags.

3. Sweaty, bright red faces grunting and grimacing in such a way that I
either want to laugh out loud or flee the building.

4. A man holding up 300 pounds of solid steel who was doing the most
bizarre exercise I'd ever seen. First he said, "Ack!"; then, "Urp!";
and, finally, "Help?me!" How was I to know the little show-off was
trapped?

Despite everything, I will admit it's a nice gym. My only real gripe is
the locker room, a huge, cavernous expanse lit up like an operating
theater. The lockers line the walls; once undressed, gym members must
scurry cockroach-like across the tiles to get to the showers. I am not
overly modest but I do object to running naked across a space the size
of a dance floor. Fortunately, I have my shower bag. Unfortunately, the
locker room resembles the gym - it's full of mirrors.

Have you ever seen a grown man scampering about, totally nude, while
holding a purse in front of his privates?