I JOINED A GYM THIS MONTH TO AVOID THE RUSH

I decided to avoid the January rush and join a gym in December.  Nobody joins a gym in December with the Christmas table laden with goodies.  But recently I saw a boxing match on TV and when they showed the fighters' statistics, one weighed 140 pounds and one weighed 142 pounds.  I thought to myself, "Jez.  I'm so fat it's like carrying a full grown boxer around with me all the time. No wonder  I move so slowly.  Or like carrying a full grown housewife.  And her Kirby vacuum cleaner."  That thought was all the incentive I needed.

 

I'm in Phase VI of recovering from a stroke back in July.  I not only joined the gym, but I got a Personal Trainer named Amanda.  She's cute.  Mainly she giggles as she leads me from one

torture chamber to another.

 

I got the distinct impression that the gym works much like used car lots...they assign cute young

women to sell to old fat guys.  And they assign male hunks to sell the women who come in.  But that's o.k.  I don't mind  having some Eye Candy while I work out (which is a euphemism since I have not yet sweated).  Amanda has a sweat shirt that says FIT HAPPENS.  She bounces around so much I was sure she had been a cheerleader in college.  I asked and she

was.  I asked her to do the splits and prove it.  But she did a cartwheel or two instead.  That proves it in my book.  I often wondered what happens to cheerleaders once they grow up.  I

think a lot of them peak early although they were always highly prized Date Bait when they were active. 

 

Before you can get on a machine at the gym (which in itself requires a  lot of dexterity), you have to fill out a 5 page questionnaire.  Health things and personal questions.  One was: Have

you ever been on a diet?  I answered: Yes.  Another question was: How much weight did you lose?  I answered: Two pounds.  Another question was: How long were you on the diet?  I answered: 32 years.

 

Then you have to sign a complex 5 pager legal document promising that you will not attempt

to sue the gym in the event that something terrible happens to you.  I wouldn't sue them.  All

they have are a bunch of exercise machines.

 

This gym is rather sedate.  At the moment.  the place is scheduled to expand into one of those

Disco-type gyms...the ones at which half-naked people go to meet other half-naked people amid loud music and flashing lights.  I don't think my membership allows me to go on the Disco side.  I know my heart wouldn't allow it.

 

Right now there are more women than men.  I guess they care more about their appearance.  But they are Old Chicks and mostly very skinny.

 

One lady rides a stationary bike next to me.  If it were a real bike she would be in Santa Fe by

now.  But she doesn't go anywhere.  She watches TV news as she pedals that sucker.  Next

to her is another woman who rides the bike and is reading a Stephen King novel which takes longer than pedaling to Santa Fe.  I don't know how she can read and ride.

 

Another personal trainer was working with his client (that's what they call us...clients, not

customers...not even members).  He had her on a table and had twisted her legs around so

much she looked like a human pretzel.  Without salt.

 

(This is an aside so I will put it in parenthesis.  But I have a certificate as a Certified Pretzel

Maker.  I got it  in Pennsylvania years ago where they have a Pretzel Making School.  You laugh,  but it's a lot more difficult to make a pretzel than it looks.  You don't lay them flat and

twist them.  You roll them out like a worm...pick up the two ends...and you flip/twist while they

are in the air...and if you are lucky, they turn into a pretzel.  This is all done in one move. My graduation certificate remains one of my proudest accomplishments and I hope my family remembers to include this in my obituary.  I think I should probably write my own obit now because I feel as if the family might have forgotten some other good stuff.  People do write their obits ahead of time and some file them with the NEW YORK TIMES.  My lawyer said he would die if he doesn't get a big piece in the NEW YORK TIMES so he updates his obit every year and files it along with a photo from his college yearbook.  He's now 87 years old, but he's still

using his college yearbook picture.  So much for obits.  Except for the fact that long ago, newspapers used to run them on the front page of the newspapers.  This was before they really had any Hard News.)

 

They have clocks all over the gym...and time does not pass quickly when you are grunting and groaning.  I may be the only person who grunts aloud.   I'm deaf and I can't hear when I groan.

But apparently I am scaring some of the other "clients". But other clients are scaring me.  In

the backroom they have about a dozen big, big rubber balls in bright colors. I thought they were

training seals back there. But, no!  They make clients get on these balls...stretch across them

to do exercise routines.  I told the trainer right off that I was not getting on a ball.  First of all, it

might explode and wouldn't that be embarrassing?  She claimed they would hold 500 pounds but you never know and I'm not taking any chances.  She tried to play Dodge Ball with me but I could not dodge a ball that holds 500 pounds.

 

In the new gym we will have changing rooms.  I think I am past my getting naked even in front

of a bunch of other men.  I think I might fit in better on the women's side, even with my beard.

 

We have a snack bar in the current gym.  Well right now it's more like a candy store.  They have all kinds of candy bars that all have the word POWER as part of the name. And drinks

that are called POWER AIDE.  I guess power is what we all are looking for.  I know I am, and I always want to start my routine in the candy store.

 

In the new gym, we will have a Karaoke Juice Bar where we can sing and meet people.  I can't

wait.  But I'm not drinking carrot juice, even on a bet.   I'm not that desperate to meet people.