My Last Day at the Gym

I don’t do well in gyms.  They smell, and I hate the thought that someone didn’t wipe down the machine I’m about to use, but I’m also too lazy to wipe it down myself.  Plus, these places are total germ factories.

It used to be that my biggest problems with gyms, though, were the change rooms.  Call me prudish, but I’m not into looking at man-ass.  And I’m definitely not into looking at ding-dong.  But there they are, one after the other, ding-dongs flopping about, ding-dongs dripping wet, ding-dongs large and small, an Easter parade of ding-dongs where the only thing missing is the TV coverage.  And weirder, I occasionally spot someone staring at MY ding-dong, and then the entire gym experience boils down to one simple, unanswerable question: do I look back?

This is not me.  Repeat, not me.

This is not me. Repeat, not me.

But that’s nothing compared to what happened to me at the gym last week.  I was minding my own business, bench pressing an astonishing 70 pounds, when I spotted a woman doing chin-ups on the bar in front of me.  She caught my eye right away, mostly because of the rainbow-coloured very-tight one-piece she was wearing.  But it was the way she was doing the chin-ups that was most amazing: she was doing them easily, as though she didn’t weigh a thing, as though that bar was insulting her with the suggestion that she couldn’t do chin-ups all day.  And while I was a sodden mess of sweat and stink, she didn’t have a hint of perspiration on her.

I looked around.  Others were having a glance, too, most of them out of the corner of their eyes, but some were a bit more obvious.  One skinny twentysomething was literally drooling as he watched her.

I got off my machine and went to another one that gave me a better angle.  Abdominal crunch.  Never, ever have these abdominal muscles encountered this crunch thing, and they instantly expressed their anger that I would subject them to it.  Up and down, over and over, everytime I came up, I had a look at the chin-up bar, where this woman was still going strong.  I also started to cramp up, and after my astonishing sixth crunch, I was done.  Panting hard, I leaned back and rested.

She was in front of me.  There must have been almost six feet of her.  This wasn’t just a woman you didn’t often see in the gym, it was the type of woman you didn’t see in your dreams.

“Like what you saw?”

“I’m sorry?” I said.

“You were staring.  Did you like what you saw?”

“Um.  Yes?  I mean, yes.  Absolutely.  I did in fact like what I saw.”

“It takes a long time to get this good.”

“I bet.  My name’s…”

“I don’t care.  You owe me money.  Twenty bucks.  Go get it.”

“What?”

“You were staring at me for almost fifteen minutes.  So you owe me money.  You owe me twenty dollars.”

“You’re kidding.”

The smile was gone.  She leaned in.  This woman was not kidding.  I thought she was going to hit me, a proposition that horrified as much as it thrilled me.  “I sold something, you bought it.  Now we settle up.  I’ll wait outside the guys’ change-room.  You get the money.  Let’s go.”

This doesn't do her justice.

This doesn’t do her justice.

Ah shit, I thought.  This is the fucking way a day at the gym goes: they’re all filled with varying levels of disappointment, differing versions of me not working hard enough or accomplishing enough, to be followed by the inevitable stop at the grocer’s on the way home to pick up some sweets that completely negate everything I just did.  Rinse.  Repeat.  Ball your eyes out like a little dweeb.  And now this, somehow the worst gym-related indignity of all: being shaken down by a woman who caught me staring at her.  So what was I going to do?

What do you think?

“Okay,” I said, defeated.  I got up.  Immediately, my stomach seized.   The extreme effort of those six abdominal crunches visited me with the ferocity of explosive diarrhea and the gut-wrenching pain of a kidney stone.  “Ouch!” I cried, doubling over and hitting the ground.

“Oh get up,” she said, standing over me.

“I can’t!  Help!  Someone help!” I cried.  I was in a fetal position, unable to unclench, my knees next to my throat, my privates scrunched up and screaming for release.

The scream did it.  She bolted.  The gym staff got to me eventually; they could only handle so much whimpering.  It took three of them to turn me over, at which point a very large man began to massage my abs as he whispered into my ear that everything was going to be okay.  He didn’t seem to mind the sweat one bit.

I half-expected to see that woman on the way to the change room.  But she was gone.  I put in a report at the front desk.  No one had complained before.  No one had heard of this scam.  I figured everyone else just shut up and paid.

That was the end of my indignities at the gym that day.  Well, at least until I got to the change room and very carefully went about undressing, lest I clench up my muscles again.  It took twenty minutes for me to change out of my clothes and get ready for a shower.  When I finally straightened up, there, in front of me, was the single largest ding-dong I had ever seen, a ding-dong of such size and perfect proportion that you could have imagined it being slung by a god; it was a ding-dong so incredible that it seemed to glow under the halogens.  I swear I almost reached out to touch it, just to make sure it was real.  Suddenly, I realized that the question wasn’t when or if you should look, but what the cut-off length and girth should be at which point you have no choice but to stare.  Half-worried that someone was going to ask me for money again, I cupped my junk with a couple of fingers and made my way in shame to the shower.

I haven’t been back to the gym since.

224 thoughts on “My Last Day at the Gym

  1. Gyms are just…ugh. Besides the sweat and machines, what made me leave was obviously not ding-dongs, but all the girly swimsuit parts in the changing room. Women were prancing around like it was St Tropez, and staring me down as I undressed. I felt so…violated.

  2. Trent, I both laughed and winced at this. I feel your pain. My gym was basically this tiny building where the treadmills overlooked a jacuzzi which was perpetually populated by a gang of elderly men. Everytime I did and running, I was aware of their eyes on me. And I would be awkwardly trying to avoid their stares. I still shudder now.

  3. I like that you tagged the story “ding dong” but I was disappointed to find that when I clicked on the tag, this was the only story in that category. 😉

    Here’s to more ding dong stories. 🙂

    I’ve spent my share of time inside gyms (including several stints as the World’s Worst Beginning Cardio Instructor) and I prefer the outdoors and the open road. It’s hard not to think horrible metaphors when you see that line of treadmills full of panting, sweating “runners” getting on and getting off and always remaining in the same place.

  4. “ding dong slung by the gods” is my phrase for the day. Unfortunately, because of what I do…it will only be in my head, as it is unusable at my chosen profession. I will, however, find a way to work it into a conversation with my mother (by phone of course…I’m not an animal), at the soonest.

  5. THE GYM.
    So, you know I’m a Gym Rat, right?

    And a freaking germaphobe. A terrible one. I walk around, cleaning spooge off of everything before I touch it.

    My goal in LIFE was perfecting 20 unassisted chin ups. For that, I have a life time of rotator cuff injuries that scream when I remove my jacket. And today, I’m lucky if I can do two.

    I never charged anybody monetarily. But they paid PSYCHICALLY; oh yes, they did. Bwah ha ha.

    I’ll never stop going to the gym. But I get to look at boobies in the locker room. Totally different story, man. They are pretty. I feel your pain.

    Perfect way to start my day.

    • I think I may have known that… the gym thing, not the germaphobe thing. I hate gyms, I feel so dirty (for many reasons).

      Um, I’ll trade you the boobies for the ding-dongs – does that sound fair?

      • NO. Not at all.

        I have no interest in huge glowing ding dongs.

        That sounds like something from outer space. Or the by-product of a nuclear power generator.

        I prefer the ladies locker room, thank you!

        Please post more of these! Pretty please?

        • You can’t blame a guy for trying, right?

          Maybe, S, but you know I fly all over the place with my writing. I have no idea what’s coming next. Although I did write something this weekend about the gay-bashing Russian government. It’s not half so angry as I would want yet, though.

        • *facepalm*

          You two are so NOT FAIR (and I mean that in the most hilarious way).
          First, mention of boobies, then ding-dongs, then “gay-bashing Russians… sucking on Communism.”

          Cimmy and I have been members of family-oriented gyms, and yet we still saw whacky stuff. *sigh* We are quite happily married, but our orientation means there’s plenty to be distracted by. Yes, boobies. Not ding-dongs, really, but chiseled muscles, stuff like that. There was “Be cool, Cimmy, don’t look, don’t look! Too late” (Ms. “Bustin’ Out All Over”) and “Why would a middle-aged woman come to a water park looking like that?” (Ms. “Cougar Bikini Woman On the Prowl” and yes, the gym decided to replace an outdoor tennis court with a water park) and “Easy there, Mack Daddy” (my son chatting up two young *cough* hotties in bikinis, and I’m trying to be mature and cool about it) and I swear, it just goes downhill from there.

          • I think you just gave my blog its new name.

            Ms. “Cougar Bikini Woman On the Prowl”

            Thanks, Jak. For reminding me I’m too old to wear the bathing suit I do, anyway.

          • Do you have a belly button piercing, too? She did. That’s put there to get guys to stare in that general direction, isn’t it? If so, it works.

            Thankfully, I don’t love and care for all that strange display of flesh I described. We may not look like Greek deities, but, I like to think we have what counts. (Still, I am thinking of a very nice couple we met at the same gym that were not creepy at all, very friendly, but still hot in the physique department. Both of them.)

  6. I need to start charging people when they look at me working out. It’s definitely a form of entertainment, very humorous.

  7. I will never understand the men who stand buck naked in the locker room and yak with some other guy … and don’t get dressed. Frequently, they aren’t the one’s with a god-like ding dong. Instead, they’re the older guys. You get in, you get showered, you get dressed, you leave. A locker room is not the place for life-slowing conversations while standing in your birthday suit.

    And the chin up? A bane of my existence. I’ve always had weak shoulders. Chin-ups were one of those tests of “manhood” when I was a kid. Failed miserably. It’s why I cook and clean now. I never earned my man card.

    • I don’t know, KM, but they do it all the time. And the endless flaunting… makes me want to reach for the garden shears. Okay, forget I said that…

      I have yet to do a chin-up. Sounds like torture, and I already torture myself in various ways.

      You have to tell me more about your cooking. I am a pretty crack cook myself, if I do say. Mostly ethnic foods (which I saw you posted about this morning).

      Man cards are overrated… sounds like a post topic, doesn’t it?

      • When I moved out of the family home all those years ago, I had a choice. Live on Taco Bell, pizza, mac ‘n’ cheese or start cooking. Taco Bell, pizza, and mac are three of my favorite things, but even the can get boring. So I started cooking and haven’t stopped.

        Mexican food, Italian food, pizza, bread, stir fry, barbecue, sauces and pastas. I make my own flour tortillas. My own fettuccine noodles. I make homemade ravioli every now and then. I generally only cook on weekends. If I cooked more often I’d probably change my philosophy, but if I can make it, I’m not buying it in a box.

        And I’m also looking for something new to make.

        What do you do in the cooking universe?

        And, yes, I agree about man cards. Never wanted one, but I have unfortunately raised two boys who seem devoted to all sorts of “man” things — like cars and tools.

        • I think you go a bit beyond me on the cooking front in terms of starting from scratch. My stuff is largely charcoal-cooked beef ribs, Indian food (chicken curry, butter lamb, baingan bhartha, aloo gobi, sholae, paranthas, goat curry extra spicy), Thai food, and any kind of fish you can arrange, stews (one with big big chunks of stuff), and various breakfast dishes (I made this one that has five layers of omelettes, each one separated by a smothering of Balderson cheese and baked as a whole).

          Yah about the kids. I have no idea what my little boy is going to turn out to be. Will have to see.

          • Indian food is one type I haven’t tried to make. I’ll have to look into it. Anything in particular you would recommend as my first experiment?

            • Try a chicken curry. Get legs and thighs. Four onions, chopped fine, some garlic and ginger as well. Fry in coconut oil if you have, grapeseed if not. When onions start to brown, add some spices – garam masala, tumeric, ajuwan, etc (or get a mix), add a bit more oil, wait until you can smell it in your throat. Add a can of tomato paste, mix well – keep it hot! Build up the broth until there is enough to add the meat, then do so. Cook until meat is cooked, serve over rice. Easiest one to start with, traditional dish and oh so delicious.

              • Thank you, good sir. I will definitely give it a try. I like that there does not appear to be any curry in it. I know that there can be a huge difference in curries, but my very first experience with curry years ago was absolutely horrible. As a result, it is something I’m reluctant to get anywhere near now..

                First time I’ve seen “wait until you can smell it in your throat” as a direction in a recipe.

                Question … you say “build up the broth” but I don’t see where you actually add broth to the mixture. Or is that inferred … with the tomato paste?

              • Okay, sorry. The curry is the spices you’re adding to the onions/garlic/ginger. Tumeric, cumin, garam masala, ajuwan, salt make essentially a curry powder. Garam masala is by itself a mixture of a few spices. The curry powder gives you all the flavour, so apply generously (add cayenne pepper for heat, as desired). The broth is really the onions etc mixed with the tomato paste (one small can should do) and then supplemented with water… you’re not adding conventional broth, just increasing volume with water. Add enough to submerge the meat – but try not to go too high, or you’ll get liquidy. You want it to be a fairly thick liquid, with lots of meat in it. For a tweak, you could do all this and put the entire concotion into a baking pan and bake instead of put it on the stove… easier way to not burn the meat, actually, and with dark meat, no real chance of drying out the meat.

                Sorry, smell it in your throat is just how I describe it… my term for it I guess.

    • Hey man, there was a webcomic PRECISELY about that. It’s true, though. They are just at an age they don’t give a rip anymore.

      As I’ve been very self-conscious about my appearance, though, I don’t mind it too much. In a very odd way, it helped me get over myself. That’s not to say that getting grooming and hygiene done, over, and me getting on my way wasn’t good… well, okay, then there were the times I was chasing my son all over the locker room. He’s 6. He has autism. Life goes on, I guess.

  8. I dunno, Trent. For someone who says he’s “definitely not into looking at ding-dongs,” you sure were descriptive when describing all of the ding-dongs you are not into looking at. And as far that one ding-dong you described as being “slung by a god,” have you ever looked at any of those ancient Greek and Roman statues ff the gods? Teeny-tiny ding-dongs (not that I was looking, or anything).

    And about the chin-up girl, seriously? $20 bucks just to watch? That’s like going to Best Buy and watching their large screen TVs for a few minutes and having to pay for it on check out.

    Oh, sorry about your belly cramps. After that experience, if you ever do decide to go back to a gym, you might want to try a different facility, lest you run into that very large man who massaged your abs while whispering in your ear. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

    • Doobster, you know how it is. Every now and then, you gotta peak, just to see who’s got what and what the new trends in personal grooming might be… I kid. Mostly.

      Honestly, I can’t say I’ve seen the ding-dong of an actual god, merely the human representations and imaginings of such, but I imagine the real thing must be an impressive sight. Unless the gods are asexual. There is always that argument.

      Amazing what we’ll spend for entertainment… the massage thing was the highlight of the experience, I have to say.

  9. As soon as I stop laughing (which will not being any time soon), I would appreciate the address of the gym. This is the best thing I will ever read in my entire life and I thank you for it wholeheartedly.

  10. I thought really pumped up guys tended to have teeny peenies?? lol Funny you wrote this since I just recently joined a gym and am totally grossed out by it!! The smell is what gets me. Gross!

  11. Wait… is this an actual story??? This happened to you? And did you really stare at her for that long, because she might have a point. I was with a girl in Santa Cruz once, and she decided to do some nude sunbathing on a deserted beach. I was walking around in the hills… I might have been on something… a few things… and I looked down and saw three adult Boy Scout leaders… in the shorts and uniform shirts and everything… taking pictures of her… in a creepy way. I went down and told them she was a professional model… which is absolutely true… she also owned 40 acres in Humboldt County, but let’s not get into that now… I told them that they could pay me for the pictures or I could see how far I could throw their cameras out into the surf. They did.
    Now, I would normally never strong-arm a bunch of Boy Scout leaders, I was a Boy Scout. But it was the way they waited until she wasn’t looking and then snapped a couple of quick shots, giggling like school girls. It just rubbed me the wrong way. If they had just been upfront about it, she wouldn’t have minded at all. She was a super freak.

  12. This sounds like a scene out of a movie! The nerve of that girl, scamming you. I bet you’re not her only target. I always wondered if you guys stared. It’s kind of hard NOT to I guess. They’re just so…there, in your face…Well, hopefully, not really in your face! I’ve never lasted long at a gym.

  13. Fiction. Yeah, right. This really happened to you and we all know it. Do we look stupid?

    I hate the gym. It’s boring, time consuming and it hurts. Plus, there’s an extraordinarily high concentration of assholes at the gym. Aside from the preening in front of the mirror, I’m most put off by the people who sit on the equipment and text. They can’t stop texting long enough to have a proper workout. Jack-offs.

    I was in the gym locker room once and a tall, strapping black man walked in. “I wonder if it’s true or if it’s just a cheap racial stereotype?,” I asked myself.

    It’s true.

    • Hey – I just wanted to slice off a part of my life and throw it out there, just to annoy you Mark. This is true, I probably shouldn’t have hit the fiction button, but I figured the photos aren’t real, so better do so. I have heard that this has happened to a couple of other people at the gym now. I’m pretty sure it will stop quick.

      I like the gym because I get to blare my music – it seems like a place where that’s okay. And honestly, I feel better afterwards, even if I ache. I have yet to see anyone texting on a machine, that’s a new one. My irritation is with people who consume a machine for an hour at a time, while ratcheting their heart rate up to that of a good stroll.

      I’m not touching that comment about black guys with a ten foot pole. So to speak.

      • Texting at my gym is at epidemic proportions. Unfortunately, most of the perpetrators are steroid-built behemoths who could very easily take my modest frame and twist it into any shape they desire. Like a ball of silly putty. So I keep my MOUTH SHUT. Just like I always have.

        I saw what you did with that metaphor. Clever.

        • Crike, I used a metaphor? I had no idea. I’ll have to look out for the gym texters. That might be one of those things that once you think about it, you notice it all over.

          Have you posted anything lately? Your posts still don’t appear in my reader. There are only two blogs I follow that have that problem, I have no idea what the issue is.

          • If you don’t notice anyone texting in the gym now then, for cryin’ out loud, don’t start looking for it. Why look for trouble? Do you want to turn into a cranky, old curmudgeon like me?

            I haven’t posted for about a week. I’m in the process of migrating my blog off of its self-hosted platform. When complete, it’ll have all the bells and whistles everyone else enjoys, including a Follow button. Finally.

            • Okay. By the way, I think of you as a kindly curmudgeon… okay, scrap the sarcasm. Good luck getting the site over, I definitely look forward to the Follow button – will make things easier (I know that’s lame).

  14. This was a painfully delightful read….and especially entertaining as one of my coping mechanisms while waiting for the lady doctor to come in the room. I am also not a gym person, mostly because it’s kind of expensive just to go see old, saggy women in the changing room and have them come near me with their weird boobs. Also, I criticize myself too much when I’m at the gym and I can’t run without feeling like people are judging me.

    At home I can dance to my loud music and do yoga and it’s free and not a single saggy tit comes even close. 🙂

    • I honestly can’t relate to the female locker room, but a slew of very squishy mental images just popped into my head reading this comment… I am totally okay with that, by the way.

      I like the loud loud music while working out too, but does that really work with yoga? Don’t those things kind of contradict each other? Only asking because I don’t do yoga.

      Single saggy tit… you’re hilarious.

      • Glad I could provide that squishy mental image. As for music, I switch off–yoga for strength on some days and dancing/hula hoop/stairs/loud music for cardio.

        You’re right though, yoga doesn’t pair so well with the likes of LMFAO’s “Shots” etc… 🙂

  15. Locker rooms stress me out. I hate how people walk around with their junk juggling around or bend over naked or blow dry their hair naked… Plain and simple, I don’t want to see it.

    Funny man… So what ya think is acceptable length of a stare?

  16. Do you follow Mark Petruska from Mark My Words? He did a very similar post a couple weeks back. Both posts had me rolling in the aisles! I wouldn’t be caught dead in a gym!

    • No, not heard of him. I’ll have to look him up – thanks for the tip. Honestly, I don’t know if I want to go back to the gym myself, but I paid for the year, and not using the membership makes me feel really guilty.

  17. I want to know that woman. I would be totally intimidated by her, but I desperately want her to take me along as the nervous sidekick for a random weekend of madcap adventure. That would rule.

  18. Note to self. Never ever ever ever go to the gym.
    And, if for some reason I break that rule. Second rule is never carry any cash with me.
    I never have any cash on me anyway, so that shouldn’t be a problem.

  19. Wooow. What a series of unfortunate events at the gym! I love working out, but I’ve had to deal with my share of male creepsters. Like the trainer who would always come over, uninvited, to “watch my form” on squats and dead lifts. Or the other trainer who really needed to take me on a date because he was “moving away”, but then….didn’t.

    Gotta love close encounters with the dregs of society!

    • Dregs of society… I like to call them the sweaty dregs of society. Apparently that is what the gym is for. Yah, creepy sums up your encounters for sure. Suddenly, I feel dirty.

  20. Incidentally, I’m probably going back to the gym tomorrow. But it’s a work gym, and by the time I’ll get there, there’ll be no ding-dongs in the locker room, no hucksters on the machines, and if I go late enough, the cleaning crew will go through it, so there won’t be too many germs. (I’ll bring my own, though).
    I’ll probably start haggling with that lady – that would be my natural impulse. Sorry, watching people exercise just isn’t worth 20 bucks, and is pretty much already included in the price of membership.

  21. With all these ding dongs it sort of puts my “nude penis man” post to shame.

    Seriously though this is why I only use the free lockers at work to go outside and run, snow be damned I still go outside. I also don’t use the showers. I just towel off put on extra deoderant and go back to work. Fortunately I don’t have to interact with a lot of people during my duties.

  22. mml out loud! did my “dangly old man’s balls” get you going or what? I shudder to think! I must admit, I lost it cracking up when you said it comes down to one simple question, “do I look back?” its only natural Trentster, even if it does…
    shiver your timber…
    giggle giggle snort snort, so don’t hang yourself over it! I wouldn’t suggest taking pics for your next ‘piece’ tho, unless it’s a selfie!!! 😉 of course, one snuck tight ass shot you could post, and I wouldn’t complain! tis why I love football! hehe GO HAWKS!

  23. Holy Crap Fuckers! This post got 160 comments between the time I read it and the time I finally got around to commenting.
    Wish I had time to read them all cuz somebody else probably already said this but, I was Totally expecting the Final Ding Dong to be dangling off the ChinUp Babe. I thought sure that’s where you were going with it.

    Just came across this guy by the way:

    http://apeterblack.wordpress.com

    Thought you’d appreciate.

    Never stepped foot in a gym.
    Too many wedgies and swirlees in my deep dark past. At least until I started smoking dope and stopped giving a fuck.

    • Sorry dude. If that girl had been a dude… that might have been life-altering.

      I knew there were several things I liked about you, but not giving a fuck and smoking dope are top of list.

      I checked out the link… guy trips to amuse people. I’m following. Instantly.

      • Well, I’m afraid I have a kid now (terrified, in fact) and so there are actually a few things I give a fuck about and my pot-head days are past. Got tired of looking over my shoulder and didn’t want to have to explain a criminal record to my daughter. I have enough to explain already. Time to clear my head too, I guess. Can’t say I’m not tempted though. ‘Course I miss booze and ciggies more. GOD how I miss them.

        • I feel you, man. I gave up smokes and cigars, but I can’t give up the booze. I stick to wine mostly now though, or rye, or scotch… who am I kidding, I’ll drink anything anytime with anyone.

          Love my kids, and I have changed for the better – sounds like you have too.

          • Well, that’s the general idea anyway. 2+cases of beer a week could not have been doing my liver any favours. Plus doin stupid shit like sleeping through the kid decorating the Christmas tree.
            It was time.
            Peace T–

  24. Pingback: I AGREE WITH AMY GLASS AND I’M NOT SORRY « A Buick in the Land of Lexus

  25. My belief is that locker rooms shouldn’t be divided between male and female, but rather between “Old or fat people who have no problem parading around without clothes on” and “everyone else.”

  26. The tears are running down my face I am laughing so hard.
    I’m afraid my gym days are over. There was a time I didn’t mind undressing in front of judgmental strangers. These days I am afraid I would scar the young ones for life. There are some things you just can’t unsee.

  27. I refuse to go the gym and be forced to run on a treadmill like a gerbil going nowhere just because modern day society has removed all forms of exercise from our daily lives. To compensate, I eat all meals standing up and type really fast comments on Art’s blog. It seems to be working. I can still fit into my kitty pajamas and zebra slippers.

    And all those ding dongs? I was really disappointed when I realized you weren’t talking about the Hostess treat. Those are really good.

    • Oh boy… I was talking about Hostess treats the entire time… I think me and you were the only people not confused. Plus everyone else is a total pervert.

      I have bee slippers and bear slippers. They have lived to exist in harmony, but they have a question for your zebra slippers: are you white with black stripes or black with white stripes?

    • Cricket bat, minimum. Had that flat board-shape to it, actually. Not that I was looking…

      True story. This stuff doesn’t happen to me (seem like other people hereabouts have amazing stories). I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  28. What a scary experience! So odd to meet a female bully like that. But I guess she must’ve learned to get better at doing crazy mean stuff like that, the stronger she got.

    I know what you mean about not being comfortable with seeing other nude people or them seeing you. This is the reason why I don’t go to saunas.

    Although I’m not actually a very germ-conscious phobic person (did I say that right?), I still think sweaty gyms are gross. Not only because the equipment handles are yucky, but the seats have GOT to have some sicko stuff on it. But whenever I tell others about this being one of the main reasons I don’t go to the gym, they always reply that I’m just too sensitive to cleanliness. I disagree. I’m sensitive to cooties I can try to avoid.

    Good for you that your abdominal pain came right in the nick of time. Although injuries aren’t fun, it’s great when I can use it as an excuse to get out of taking part in exercises or activities I don’t wanna be doing.

    p.s. You write very well.

    • I think they even try to keep this gym clean, but I always end up spying out those people who don’t wipe down their machines after they’re done… totally gross. It only takes like a minute…

      Female bully… that’s a good way to put it. Crike, I never thought of that, I was bullied! I think I handled myself fairly well… sort of anyway.

      I hate exercise too, but my wife calls me out when I plead soreness too much. Sigh. I’ve been back since this incident, no problems as yet, but I can’t say I love the place.

      Thanks for the comment – great to meet you.

      • Nice to meetcha too!

        That’s great that your wife keeps ya in check when it comes to staying fit. Reminds me of my friend and her husband, but their situation’s the other way around. My friend said that if she even hints that she might not want to go on their daily walking routine, then her husband’s so quick to throw off his walking shoes – and then later say somethin’ about her being the one who doesn’t like to exercise. xD

  29. freaking hilarious! I wanted it to be her standing there too, or I was waiting for you to have touched it! HAHA! Personally no gym for me. I prefer 12 oz curls and I am beginning to have the profile to prove it. I had a membership when I was young and had no need to work out but I did love the hot tub.

  30. Pingback: 4 girly accessories for the friend who brought colors into your life | Stillwater

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