I’ve been a member of 24-Hour Fitness now for about 7 years. I bought into some pre-pay scheme way back when I lived in Seattle and now I pay something like $9 a month if I promise to bring them my first born child. Needless to say, I HATE the gym… I only go because the only thing I hate more is being single and fat. I don’t know where this gym-anxiety comes from but I was definitely skipped when they were handing out that gay gene.

Well my usual routine is to zip in and out as fast as I can without making eye contact. 24-Hour Fitness is like a damn cattle car so it’s difficult to avoid people all together; everyone is packed in and occasionally there is a line to use the equipment, but don’t even get me started on that one. Anyway, I make some vain attempt at a few machines and then I dash for an open treadmill to sweat away a peaceful 30 minutes with just me and my iPod. I’ve always loved running and so that is my failsafe workout when I’m not in the mood for anything else.

So there I was up on my treadmill thumping along at a pretty good pace, wedged between a long line of soccer moms in stretchy pink pants flipping through their “Women’s World”. I was doing my usual best attempt at gym-posturing, pretending that it was my scene and that I was all about fitness. Alternating my glances between the dashboard in front of me and the TVs suspended from the ceiling; making sure not to stare for too long to avoid drifting to the side of the belt and catching an edge and stumbling back. That would be a major gym mistake… an amateur miscalculation. Being at the gym is all about good form.

As I ran along at my 7.1 pace, starring expressionless at the wall of mirrors in front of me, trying not to make eye contact with the other anonymous sweaty faces also starring forward, I felt this strange ruffle of fabric in the shoulder of my t-shirt. I shifted the cord of my headphones around a bit thinking that maybe something was catching on my shirt. A few seconds later, emerging from the cuff of my short sleeve was a little tuft of semi-transparent fabric.

And right there, in the middle of all my macho gym-posturing, and looking sexy and cool, alongside all my little pink-bunny-suited moms and muscle-head guys…. I dispensed a dryer fabric softening sheet from my shirt sleeve.

And that is why I hate the gym.

Permalink