7 Types of Gym Goers I Want Shot When The Revolution Begins
I’m out of the pool and exercise is no better on dry land. Why don’t we have a public health warning about morons?
Having attempted to swim through a melange of dickheads for the last three weeks, I cracked. I decided to change it up and hit the gym to have a go at cardio and weights instead.
What I presumed would be a pleasant change to my normal swim routine turned into a tortuous affair. So after a week of trying my hand at gymming, here are a further 8 types of land loving exercise fiends I want shot.
The Sweatasaurus Rex
I’m aware that people have different body types and different perspiration levels. That is a given in the modern age. It had not occurred to me that some people are in a constant audition for the role of Poseidon.
Sweating doesn’t happen in the pool but to be fair to the Sweatasaurus Rex, he’d be dryer in the pool. I’m not averse to the moistened brow, a sign that you’ve worked hard but there is one gentleman who perspires on arrival.
Over the next hour he does his best to turn the gym into the lost city of Atlantis. He can go for starters. Hand him a towel and let him use it as a blindfold when we put him up against the wall. Bullet number one is heading for you buddy, let’s hope it doesn’t hit you and slip off.
The Gossip Girls
The SAME girls who meet up for a chat in the pool also meet up for a chat on the stationary bikes. I shit you not. I have no idea what they have left to say to each other!
This gruesome twosome occupy adjacent bikes, pedal leisurely and talk about shite. They cannot be attempting to resolve any massive world problem. Nor do they seem to reach any sort of conclusion. After forty-five minutes they have gone the equivalent of about 200 metres, get off and go for a ‘Swim’. Where they continue their conversation stood in the pool and stretching. I have written about them before. They haven’t had the common decency to drown yet.
They need a restraining order. Not only from the gym but from each other. If they cannot separate soon one of them will die of exhaustion. If the courts can’t force them apart then they must be put down. Permenantly.
There’s a man who comes into the gym at the same time as I do. I call him ‘The Beast’. He has tattoos and a piggy glare. He lifts weights the size of the average car and goes hard for about three hours. He wins bonus points for this. This is what the gym is for, and i can see by his size that the exercise will benefit him. I can also see the benefit for me. If Earth comes under threat from a hitherto unknown galactic predator, I will stand behind him. I’d hold his coat if he asked.
But I need to tell him that when he lifts weights he sounds like an elderly lord on Game of Thrones. Not the erudite and witty Charles Dance I hasten to add. One of the filthy ones that does dissatisfying sex with broad prostitutes. His repetitive grunting has no build, it doesn’t go anywhere. It’s half an hour of perpetual rhythmic effort with no pay off. I’ve decided that rather than tell him we’ll execute him — elephant gun only for this one.
The WTF Woman
Stuck to each machine is a small pictorial display of how to use the machine. This has generally held to be true in every gym I have ever attended and my current gym is no exception.
I understand that some machines are more complex than others, some do look a little strange at first. You can avoid this problem by consulting the pictures and following the instructions.
I am thus unsure about one woman in particular who attends in the morning. I am not sure if she’s mentally deranged or a horny objectophile with a gym machine fetish. Whatever her problem is, it isn’t a lack of enthusiasm.
She approaches every machine with an internalised Karma Sutra. I have presumed that she’s working out a muscle group that exists in another of the 11 dimensions we can’t see. She can go. One day she’s going to break her own neck doing a headstand on a bicep curler.
This will save us the time of executing her.
This guy walks around with a weightlifting belt and a waterproof jacket on. Every. Single. Morning. Come rain or shine he’s there without fail. He looks like a retired WWE wrestler, and not a babyface, one of the heels. He has the general demeanour of Sgt Slaughter in the late 1980s, but less charisma.
On occasion he will stop at a machine and max out the weight. He’ll lift it once and then begin his walking circle again looking for people to nod at. I’m tempted to buy him a theme tune.
He thinks he’s impressing people and that we all love him. He’s under the illusion we are all envious but one glance at the face of someone he’s talked to and the truth is evident. We ALL think he’s a prick. He’s got to go. You’re fooling nobody budget Slaughter and it’ll be a relief to the entire gym once you’re shot and shoved in the bin.
The Self Talk Weirdo
I’m aware that motivation comes in different forms. We are not all motivated by the same thing. For example, I’m motivated by clearing my gym and swimming pool of the panoply of resident idiots. John however…. John is motivated by being a millionaire.
How do I know this about John? How do I know he’s called John? Because as he gets towards the end of the set he says in a low voice ‘You’ll be a millionaire John. Five more John. You’ll be a millionaire’. I’m not sure how lifting a weight a further five times creates any real change in financial status.
The disappointing lack of financial reward doesn’t seem to have stopped him. By now he should be a billionaire. Or have bigger arms. Or both.I don’t think for a second that John is a millionaire. If he was, he’d have his own private gym, like I’d have if only my Medium articles earned more.
Next week I’m going to sit there and say…. “One more rep James and you can punch John in the face’. or ‘Three more reps James and you can kill them all’. This will make my workout go faster and might clear the gym a little.
I’m not sure what a super set is. I’m sure what it isn’t. It isn’t a good thing. I can now say with increasing certainty that ‘Supersetting’ is gym bro code for ‘land grab’. Any man doing a superset (it’s usually men) can occupy many machines and lots of space. Announcing a superset means you can take up to eight separate areas of the gym and at least half the machines.
This allows a ‘SuperSetter’ to be doing press ups in the corner but also be using the ab-cruncher, the dumbbells and the pull up bar. These other uses only exist in-potentia but woe betide anyone who uses the machine.
They will jog over and assert they are using the machine before proceeding to not use it. If I’d known you could assert ownership in this way I would’ve done that with the swimming pool ages ago. That would’ve saved me the hassle of wandering into this grunting sweaty hellhole.
As you can no doubt see, I’m no better at sharing the land than I am sharing the pool. Modern life continues to confound me.
For more intolerant satire about the state of the modern world…