Sunday, March 1, 2009

This Season on Drawing In

It's time you got to know the new cast of characters at the gym. I have become a gym rat (again, I am afraid) and now that I am there every day I am free to assign personae to my co-members.

When I belonged to the Waltham Athletic Club, I was actually more of a gym rat, but probably not working as hard. The WAC had more toys in it -- specifically, a full-sized pool, 2 hot tubs, a steam, a sauna, a full-court basketball gym, and some circuit stuff too. I would speand hours there. Blue Cross paid for 1/3 of it, so in my otherwise unglamorous life I could take advantage of a "club" that required me to change clothes about 3 times when I was there. It had other things I didn't even take advantage of, like tennis courts, raquetball, and an on-site golf pro. (how the bloody did I even afford that? I don't recall).

But I moved away. Because I wanted a house and blahblahblah. (though I'll tell you, House nearly paid for itself tax-break wise this year. That piece of change might have otherwise gone to the military-industrial complex. )

So I got all escrowed up, moved to the exurbs, and the Mill, and got fat and sleepy.

I have never really looked like Jamie Leigh, well maybe here, but only because Laurie Strode and I had the same awful wardrobe.

I would never find the WAC again. But I never got much healthier at the WAC. Enter Global.

Who's Who at the Club
Dave: Signed me up. I do not think that is really his name, but I can't remember what his name is. So in my head he is Dave, and in person, he is, "hey, how's it goin'?" with enthusiastic familiarity.

The Rabbit: This is a kid who works-out with his father. He is likely older than he appears, and his father has dragged him along to the gym to beef up his 98-pt paleness. He walks toes-first and skirts around people without looking at them, only out of the corners of his eyes.

The Gals: As you might imagine, they work out together with a staff trainer, and they howl and "cut-up" while they try to make sense out of the cockamammie equipment stashed in every corner. If laughter is the best workout, they are the elite.

Jammer: My brain makes these names up on its own. I am only aware of them when I see someone and my brain announces to me how they are categorized. I can do better with The Jammer, but I only discovered her the other day. She was on the treadmill rocking out to her iPod -- eyes shut, head banging. May I add that she looks like a home ec teacher, or the office manager at the mortgage company. When I saw her the 2nd time, my cortex said, "hey, that's tha Jammer." My cortex is very excited when it recognizes people, and likes to tell me so.

Keri Strug: Teenage phenom athlete of some kind with her own trainer she addresses with the intimate respect one would an Edwardian Governess.

The Nudist: Self-explanatory. If you are drying your hair in the dressing area -- however long that takes -- on a Saturday evening, naked... you are an exhibitionist.

Medicine Ball: Props to this guy. He is about 60, made out of cinderblock, and has a routine which involves carrying 2 handled-medicine balls, one in each hand, upstairs to the "mezzanine," across the floor, down the other side, then back up again.

Creepy Guy: Prefers the treadmill behind the thigh machines and waits for the ladies. We stay away.

Names I imagine I have:
Pink Towel

Sauna (I am the only one ever in it. Let's hope Nudist doesn't ruin this for everybody)

I have never found a machine that makes me sweat like (product endorsement) the Expresso Bike, which I just discovered has a bike-powered video game built in, in addition to its many virtual routes. Take that, Wii Fitness.

After an invigorating dash by the beach or through the redwood forest, I enjoy hunting dragons in this masochistic version of Jockey's Ridge where you lose all your points if you happen to fall into the water. Plus the dragons have figured out I can not possibly follow them up the dunes, so they hover there and laugh at me.

Now I just want to Beeee there, before the snow comes and socks me in for the entire day tomorrow. Gotta go. More later.

1 comment:

  1. Having belonged to this same gym until very recently, I think I know some of these. However my favorite was Mr. Honey, the trainer who stared at the ladies uncomfortably and said to me "HEEEEEY HONEY LOOKING GOOD". Eerily similar to the chef that verbally assaults me down in the mill basement/cafeteria.