I go to the health club almost every day. It's only about two blocks from our apartment, so I really have no excuse. Partner likes to ride the stationary bike. I prefer the treadmill; it's dull and repetitive, like me.
And I love the floor show.
First, there's the staff:
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The earnest girl at the front desk who scans my key card and wishes me a good workout!
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The managers, who wear very tight shirts, and have interesting tattoos. (I think Manager Mike's tattoo says “Charlotte” – his girlfriend’s name? – but the tattoo is very ornate and runs all the way up his arm, so it may be part of a much more complex sentiment, like “Charlotte Rae was a member of the supporting cast on ‘The Facts of Life.’”)
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The trainers. Our favorite is Sean, who's tall and has an interesting hairstyle and big shoulders and a cute little smile. Our second favorite is Robot #1, who is very tall, very big, very young, very loud, a regular Li'l Abner type. Our third favorite is Robot #2, who is just like #1 except a little older, a little shorter, a little broader, a little more brooding. He leans on the exercise equipment with a kind of Marlon Brando moodiness. (There used to be another one, a gigantic furniture mover with a perpetual sneer, who had a name tattooed from his collarbone to his jaw. I called him “Zipperneck.” I didn't like him.)
Then there are the members:
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The scrawny (young / old). I am in this group, naturally.
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The formerly fit. These mostly look like former gym teachers. They grimace a lot when they work out, as they are putting out one hundred and ten percent effort! They sport casts and crutches a lot. You don't suppose they hurt themselves working out too strenuously, do you?
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The college boys. These wear T-shirts featuring beer, or computers, or both.
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Creeps and nimrods. Some are dessicated-looking, like praying mantises. Others have huge arms and skinny legs, or vice versa. Sometimes they do sparring moves while they're on the treadmill. Sometimes they do creative workouts involving jumpropes and kung-fu moves and shopping carts. Sometimes they crawl along the back wall of the workout area. (I'm not making these up.) Partner and I scowl at them when they come too close.
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Cuties. These vary from visit to visit. My current favorite is a big lean guy with a face like an intelligent chimpanzee. He works out very intently with dumbbells for a while, then does jumping jacks while watching himself in the mirror. I just want to put him in my pocket and take him home.
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Women. I suppose there must be some. I don't really notice.
The foregoing may seem to indicate that I pay too much attention to my surroundings when I really should be concentrating on my healthy activity.
But listen: when you're trudging along on a treadmill, or pedaling a stationary bike, you need all the distraction you can get.
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