The Gym Is Horrible


Finally settling in to the eight month mark of my break-up, I decided I should probably do something besides watch Vanderpump Rules all day while binging on Cheez-Its and white wine.

Normally this behavior wouldn’t have carried on this long, but all of my friends are consumed with their functional relationships so I had to pull myself out of the trenches solo.

Getting a gym membership was the only thing I could think of to get me out of my slump. Ok, that’s a lie, the first thing I thought of was: “the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else”. But then I looked in the mirror and decided I should probably go to the gym first.

My endless amounts of pent up anger and slowly-but-surely shrinking thunder thighs has made the gym a pretty positive experience for me overall.  However, even though I am now a gym regular, a few annoying thoughts always find their way into my little blonde head.

My semi-gay tendencies: I’m pretty sure that I’m not gay, but I do get really distracted by females at the gym. They’re all either so smoking hot or so disturbingly fat that I end up zoning out on the treadmill staring at them…wondering…does my ass look like that? Is she wearing underwear? Should I be wearing underwear? Are those Lulu Lemon pants? They look good. I can’t afford those. But would my ass look better if I had them? She’s not even sweating. I probably have so much ass sweat right now. Dear God please don’t let anyone take a picture of my ass sweat. How long have I been on this stupid fucking Stairmaster? 7 MINUTES?!

My heterosexual fears: I don’t care how desperate my love life gets, I will never associate with guys at the gym if I can help it. You’d think that a makeup- less face covered in sweat with headphones in would deter douche bags the other way but NO. The gym is full of old dudes in short shorts, top heavy guys with show muscles and chicken legs that are grunting WAY too much, and packs of Philippino guys in neon tank tops with stupid sayings that I always accidentally make eye contact with.

Latin Fire: I’ve watched enough episodes of Dancing With The Stars to know that dancing can really trim your waistline, so I have no shame in taking a weekly Zumba class or two. However, the territorial Latina women have a claim on the front row, and accidentally bumping into them turns a Tuesday evening fiesta into a terrifying experience. WHITE PEOPLE: HANG IN THE BACK.

Speaking of Zumba…This is my own fault for having such high expectations of entertainment value from the gay community, I just don’t like gay male instructors. All they do is check themselves out in the mirror and give you a half-hearted “good job ladies” after four back-to-back Enrique songs.

Being Uncomfortable:  The other day I was on the dreaded Stairmaster when I happened to gaze behind me, only to see a fifty something year old staring up at my ass, smiling. HOW LONG HAD HE BEEN STANDING THERE? I was hanging by the class room holding my yoga mat when a douche with a cut-off tank top felt it appropriate to ask me if I was going to yoga class. He spent the next three horrible minutes calling me Haley and looked genuinely surprised when I sprinted to the opposite side of the room to put my mat down.

Wondering if I’ll Really Go Back: After experiencing a legitimate fear of public puking and whip-lash from my first kickboxing class, I really needed to re-evaluate my life when I felt pure joy hearing the huge black instructor yell “good job white girl” when I hit the punching bag with the strength of a fetus.

Ok sure, these problems may be specific to me, but as far as I can tell, the gym is a just a bunch of unanswered questions:

Why is that guy wearing a beanie?

How do I use this machine?

Is my crotch supposed to feel like that?

Why is that girl wearing so much make-up?

Do I really have to walk all the way to the bathroom to adjust my thong?

How see-through are my pants when I squat like this?

Did someone seriously just fart during the nap time part of yoga?

Why do I have to wipe down the treadmill? I barely touched it.


Does anyone have all the answers? If you do, I’m sure you use hashtags like #fitlife and I don’t want to talk to you anyway.


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