There are people who go to the gym to work out, and there are people who go to the gym to pick up guys. Have you seen them? They lurk. They are lurkers. They are lurking lurkers who lurk around from machine to machine, dressed in their color-coordinated "exercise" outfits that consist of hot pink sports bras and spandex. It's bad enough when the 300-pounders on the stair masters wear spandex...jiggling butts right in your face because each machine is right behind another...but teenage girls roaming from treadmill to treadmill, pretending to consider the question of "to run or not to run" when really they're thinking "to hit on that guy on the bench-press or to hit on that guy lifting weights." GET LOST. We're here to become buff, not bimbos. And what's even worse is that they make YOU look extra-bad because you're the one in the baggy t-shirt and eyebrows slicked with sweat. News flash: eyebrows slicked with sweat? Not a turn-on. The lurking sluts are the ones who wear their hair DOWN when they're lifting weights. Yeah, you've seen them. They're a rare breed, but they're always there. Walking. Watching. Winking. I'd MUCH rather have a bonofied booTAY in my face than a walking sports bra.
Power walking. Walking is not hard-core exercise, but it has recently been discovered that walking while AT THE SAME TIME pumping your arms melts the weight right off! That's right folks! You're walking, you're walking and nothing is happening, but then...you lift one arm, then the other...and you move them, back and forth, back and forth, and BAM! You're burning millions upon millions of calories! Forget all that stupid running and weight lifting! Just pump those arms while AT THE SAME TIME walking and you will have the body of Pamela Anderson! (assets not included) Remember: walking alone is not enough. Pumping your arms is not enough. But walking while AT THE SAME TIME pumping your arms? MIRACLES!
Why is it that some people believe that if they fart on the elliptical no one will hear? Not only that, but no one will be able to smell it? IT'S NOT OKAY PEOPLE. I'm sick of being stuck behind the friendly farting fellow. Sure, he waves hi and smiles, but he's only smiling because he thinks that this is the only place he can get away with repetitive noises coming from his a-hole. I don't know if it's the machine...or what he ate for breakfast...but it doesn't matter. What matters is that we can all still hear it, and even if we don't hear it, we can smell it. For those who smell and run away, the friendly farting fellow has given them a little dose of extra cardio. But NO, it does NOT motivate us to keep on truckin,' it motivates us to scream, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!" and leave. (not that we'd ever have the courage to open our mouths at all) So if you're one of those who is able to break wind and jog while remaining guilt-free, I beg of you, hold it in. If you have to squeeze your buttocks together to do it, I don't care. Just keep your gluteus maximus and the products it disperses the hell away from me.
I've mastered the "keep-your-head-down-and-pretend-you're-fixing-the-bottom-of-your-shirt-so-you-don't-have-to-look-that-person-in-the-eye-and-hope-that-they-don't-notice-you-anyway" routine. Really, I'm an expert, and I owe it all to the gym. Remember those people who you used to know? The ones who, hey, maybe someday you'll run into, and when you do you're gonna make a lasting impression? Yeah. For some reason, it's THOSE people who I always run into at the GYM. And no, not before my work-out, AFTER my work-out. And guys look good working out. Their muscles are flexing, their hair is too short to drip with sweat, and they look manly. Girls who look manly are called one thing. Lesbians. So I've just ran three miles, my hair is dripping with sweat making me look like I have those little Jew-curls at the sides of my ears that only boys are supposed to have, my whole face is red, and for some reason swollen, and I run into Nick my first boyfriend, Chance my biggest middle school crush, and Thomas, who is ugly anyway so I don't really care about him. And they're not thinking, "Man, I sure made a mistake letting her go." They're thinking, lesbian.
I don't go into the men's locker room. Why? Because I'm not a man. But I happen to know a few who DO go into the men's locker room. Why? Because I know some men. And why do THEY go into the men's locker room? Because they're men. So I've heard a few bizarre stories about the men's locker room in my time...but one has always stuck with me...
So Elliot walks into the men's locker room. It appears to be empty. He starts changing when he hears a faint sound. Snip. Snip. Snip. Thinking it's just his imagination, he continues putting on his clothes, then hears it again. Snip. Snip. Snip. He finishes changing, but goes to look in the mirror before he leaves. Why? To check himself out, of course. Then he sees that the locker room is not empty after all. There's another man here, also in front of the mirror, standing awkwardly close to it in fact. Snip. Snip. Snip. The man backs away slowly, then notices Elliot standing there gawking. The man smiles and exclaims, "Three-way mirrors! Perfect for this sort of thing!" Elliot smiles at the naked man. "This way you can get every angle!" Elliot nods slowly at the naked man clenching the scissors in his right hand "Don't want to miss a spot!" Elliot gives a thumbs up to the naked man clenching the scissors in his right hand standing in the pile of wiry hair. "You should really try it! You can borrow my scissors, if you'd like!" Elliot doesn't know what to say, so he accidentally makes it more awkward than it was before. "What are you doing?" The man turns around, which alone answers Elliot's question in more of a way than words ever could. "TRIMMIN' MY PUBES!"