The Gym
Never been a fan of the gym, all those sweaty people parading around doing stuff. Like so many. I donated to them, you know that ‘this is it — I’m going to do it’ New Year’s resolution. Note to all. Never give a person, whether you love them or hate them, a gym membership as a gift. It’s a shitty gift.
But, what can one do? I need a pool since the low impact is now all this body can handle. To give an example: I played soccer a couple of days ago. Hadn’t played in a good long while, for good reason. It’s now the end of day two since parts are still aching. I know, different muscle groups and all that. It’s so much fun though, even if I say so myself. I’m pretty good. Well, compared to the guys I play anyway. One, actually fouled himself, either that or the ground leaped up and bit him on the ankle, down he went unassisted, remarkable.
I digress, the gym being the title of this story. I was there today to swim. Since they have a pool I had to go against my better judgment, and join. Fortunately, water just soothes me, all those aches, drowned.
So this is LA fitness. I took the plunge in Chicago, I’m now in sunny San Diego. The facilities appear similar. The pool slightly bigger since they get more people here I guess. I find my way to the locker room, go through to get out to the pool. In my path as I’m exiting the locker room an ORC. For the well-informed, ORCs appear in all their glory in the LOTR franchise. I know, it’s not a nice thing to say, but it’s the very first thought that penetrated my mind. I’m convinced, Peter Jackson, maybe even when he was going to his gym, although he doesn’t look too much like a gym guy, met this gentleman, and the ORC was born, born to be indelibly etched in the darkest recess of the said mind, and no, I didn’t grunt.
As always, it’s got to be entertaining to watch us, swimmers, doing our level best in an attempt to stay afloat. Drowning is not allowed so no need for a lifeguard. We fish come in all shapes and sizes. Lap upon lap I do who knows what keeping myself from getting bored. It’s only 40–50 minutes I remind myself. You can do it. Often there’s someone in the other lane I can use for inspiration, a distraction. So far it’s working.
Swimming done, I gather my stuff, time for a shower. I don’t bother putting on my glasses. Nothing to see really. Into the locker room, I go relieved to see the showers are right in front of me. On closer inspection I see someone standing with a towel wrapped around them. My usual, wrap the towel around my waist. This person has the towel wrapped under their armpits.
Not being able to see too well I can’t discern what I’m looking at but something just seems slightly off. I do have okay hearing. I’m alerted to a voice that doesn’t sound like that of a man. ‘Is this the woman’s locker room?’ I stammer ‘it is’ says she. Backing ever so gracefully out I let them know that this is true I swear, the men’s locker room is the first one you come to when leaving the pool at the club I frequent. Not too much more to say about this.
Now, I’m drying off in the more appropriate men’s locker room. I’m watching a guy likely in the ’70s doing his best to get his jeans on. Whether he’d forgotten his underwear or not I do not know, either way, he was struggling. I’m guessing he just doesn’t want to bother trying to do battle with another garment. His sandals, Velcro.
Do your utmost not to visualize an elderly gentleman, taking more minutes than comfortable, not being able to get his jeans over his knees all the while parts are left dangling. Heading out I remarked ‘getting dressed is just as much as a workout.’ Pants still below his knees, he chuckled.
Out of the locker room and heading towards the door I passed by the Pilates class. The class is filled with women, one guy on the side, they’re jumping up and down, side to side. One or two are on a different plane, class goes one way they go they the other arms waving in the air dancing to their own drummer, reality TV at its best.
A fun day at the gym. Let’s see what the next one brings.
