Gym Drama

Last year, my regular boxing gym suddenly closed down without warning. I show up one Saturday morning as usual to discover the doors locked and lights out. I figured the manager must be late again. It’s happened before. I bike up to the 7-11 for some fresh coffee and sit down at the closest bus stop bench and wait a few minutes longer, gathering my thoughts and enjoying a quiet morning alone, piping hot java in hand.

A good 16 oz. Cup of coffee takes me about 40 minutes to finish. There is a specific temperature at which I drink hot beverages, and the first ten minutes of that forty consist solely of my waiting for the coffee to reach ideal drinking temperature. Sometimes interesting cars go by or the local vagabonds wander down the street collecting cans and bottle for return. Occasionally, a lone jogger strides past and waves.

I returned to the gym an hour later only to witness the same set of quiet, sullen circumstances, only now I am joined in my continuing quandary by several others also eagerly waiting to work out, and wondering what the hell is going on. Some of them are on cell phones calling the business number, others are stretching in the doorway, and some are standing around with that drawn look of boredom that standing around doing nothing etches into one’s face. At that point, I went home. Misery may love company, but I sure as hell don't.

A week later, Janice and I are visiting some old friends who happen live right behind the gym. Their daughter, now eighteen, and her somewhat older boyfriend were there. When I mentioned if they knew anything about why the boxing gym hadn’t opened all week, the boyfriend, who was somehow in the know about drug happenings in the neighborhood, explained that the gym was shut down by the police for selling cocaine and steroids. The owner is facing some serious jail time and the building and equipment had already been seized by the proper authorities.

Damn! I paid for a full year up front!

I was not surprised at all to find drugs being dealt in a gym of any kind. People who work out, especially younger ones, are not really concerned with health as much as image, and are willing to cut some corners to get into the ‘look’ they want. Gyms, like any public place, have cliques and little sub-dramas going on in the background. Beyond the tapping speed-bags and the clank of steel barbells there is some business being handled, and drugs are sometimes part of it. Personally, I have never taken any drugs for that specific purpose, and it probably shows. For me it has always been about health, and I don’t even take the medications doctors prescribe, let alone what some steroid junky or nutritional ‘consultant’ is hawking at the ‘smoothie’ counter.

I never liked the commercial health clubs. I miss my old gym because at least the walls weren’t plastered with televisions and corny advertising. When it was hot outside, it was hotter inside. I don’t come to gym so that I won’t sweat, and turning up the air conditioning seems counterproductive. I miss my old gym because the people there were for the most part serious about their training, and maybe too serious at times. There wasn’t the usual meat-market atmosphere that makes everyone afraid to talk to anyone else lest it be misconstrued to imply something sexual. I dreaded the thought of joining the ranks of mainstream gym goers.

Alas, my fate was sealed. I have broken down and joined a commercial health club, replete with noisy urban music, televisions blaring endless loops of inane network programming, annoying personal trainers, and sadly, no heavy bag or speed bag upon which to vent my frustrations. They do, however, allow me to skip rope. Unlike my old gym, where new faces became familiar friends, everyone here seems to be standoffish and distant. I think it’s normal though. There are likely to be 100s more at this gym on any given day than were ever in my old one.

On the plus side, there are plenty of fine looking women running around in tight outfits to admire. Some of the younger ones (they’re all younger it seems) have taken to wearing the latest work-out fashions. This consists of very tight fleece-wear with words emblazoned across the buttocks reading “Boodilicious.” For most of these young ladies, there is definitely truth in that advertising. The yoga class is kind of entertaining, too, unless I’m in it. Then it’s just painful.

As a full time voyeur the larger crowd does afford me the unique opportunity to watch more people in action. I already know the rituals of many of the gym members. Trust me, exercise is a ritual, and people are very careful not to alter it in any way. For example, this one Chinese fellow carries a huge backpack with him around the gym. I thought at first he was just without a locker or lock to lock the locker, but I was mistaken. This guy carries an array of cleaning supplies with him! Before using a machine he cleans the entire machine with disinfectant, and then, after doing his exercise, repeats the cleansing process over again. When I first saw him doing this, I thought he worked at the club.

There is another woman who spends a good hours each night walking on the treadmill while on a steep incline. She always looks like she’s in pain, but never stops for a minute. I’ve made eye contact with her a few times, you know, just to be friendly, but she insists on being robotic in her routine. Either she wants me, or she doesn’t want me. Not that I should be concerned about that either way, but it would be nice to know if I still have the ‘stuff’. My poor ego.

It’s time for bed. It has been another really long day.

Kol Tuv