Low Rent Gym Behavior

I am a gym whore. I put out to work out. Sometimes the energy I expend derives few benefits.

One of the gyms I joined is a huge subterranean workout room—really, one enormous underground asylum—with no natural light, but blinding hanging spotlights that make it annoying to bench-press on your back. Very poorly planned! Unlike the racquetball gym, this one has tons of treadmills, ellipticals, and a few other devices. When it opened, all the equipment in this place worked.

However, as time went on, one machine after another broke down and was never repaired. There were also leaking ceilings and irregular sunken floors. There were no classes, so we were stuck with the humid, dingy dungeon that now sported flying insects with little fat wings. These creatures derived gym privileges without paying membership fees, and nobody did anything about the interlopers.

I knew this was an unsavory atmosphere. Then I saw a piece in the newspaper about a personal trainer actually dying at his athletic club due to "unsafe conditions" including mold. Ewww!

To make matters worse, ugly places bring out the ugly in people. Because of the putrid air beneath ground level, the Department of Health told the owners they needed to provide air circulation. Suddenly, giant sized fans appeared in a few spots on the floor. That’s when fights began.

Garbage man Charlie took great pride in looking in the mirror at his extraordinary pecs and George-Hamilton tan. When his workouts ended, he left buckets of sweat on the machines, as a male dog would mark his spot on a tree with urine. How attractive! Charlie bragged that the sweat was the reason for his sculpted body.

Secretary Marian was attractive and outspoken and going through menopause. She announced that she was constantly hot flashing and needed to be cooled. Charlie insisted that a gym is for sweating. Marian countered that she already sweat too much. Charlie ignored her words, went over to the giant black fan, and with all his might, pulled the metal switch to turn it off. (Actually, he didn't need his might to simply pull the chain.) Marian interrupted her workout, furiously got off her treadmill, stormed over to the same fan, and turned it back on. They got into a shouting match, then a shoving match. Charlie was so angry, he ran to the fan again, this time knocking it down and ripping the chain off completely. Since he was used to lifting heavy garbage cans, tackling a floor fan was a cinch for him. Two other men joined the fray. People were screaming at each other, and a few punches were swung. Before we knew it, the police had been called.

I know that Jerry Seinfeld's wife met him while they were working out at a gym in Manhattan. I'm sure she never saw him tackling a floor fan. The ugliness of the low rent behavior at my gym is hardly a turn-on for meeting men. I need to find another place to work out. Is it any wonder I'm a gym whore??