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:
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.