"Okay everybody! Now sprint to this side of the gym, touch the wall, sprint back, tag your partner's hand, and then your partner will do the same. Everybody clear?"
"WOO HOO! YEAH WE'RE CLEAR AS A CRYSTAL, BABY! CLEAR AS A CRYSTAL!"
"WOO HOO! WHO'S DONE FIRST? I SAID...WHO'S DONE FIRST?!"
"WE ARE, MAN! YEAH, WE'RE DONE FIRST!"
"SO THAT MEANS...WHO KICKS ASS? I SAID...WHO! KICKS! ASS!"
"WE KICK ASS, MAN! WE'RE THE ASS KICKERS HERE! WOO HOO!"
You'd think being the only two men in a class of 35 would dampen their egos, not enhance them.
"Okay everybody! I'm going to put on some music, and all I want you guys to do is jog around the perimeter of the gym to warm up for our next drill! Okay, GO!"
"DUDE I LOVE THIS SONG! BLINDED BY THE LIGHT..."
"WRAPPED UP LIKE A DOUCHE!"
"HEY MAN THAT'S THE BEST PART OF THE WHOLE SONG!"
"HAHA YEAH MAN, YOU'RE A DOUCHE!"
"NAH DUDE, YOU'RE THE DOUCHE!"
I could have told him that myself.
"YEAH MAN BUT FOR DOUCHES WE SURE KICK ASS!"
He grabs his own ass as he yells this. He plays it off an accompaniment to what he just said, but really he's picking his shorts out of his crack. Because honestly, he's just too fat to be wearing dolphin shorts. But he doesn't know this. I know this, but he doesn't know this. His friend doesn't know, either. Since he's got the dolphin shorts AND the mid-life crisis sideburns. Long and shaggy with a touch of salt and pepper.
"Okay everybody! Now I want you to lay down on your backs, and stick your pelvic bone in the air. We're doing REVERSE crunches, people. Reverse crunches! Now remember, your pelvic bone is off of the ground. It's up, it's up, it's UP!"
"THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!"
Okay. You're 42 years old. You're in a gym class filled with women. You're in a gym class with 14-year-old girls. While all the other men are out bench-pressing and sprinting around a track, you're on a yoga mat. You're not only making sexual jokes, you're screaming them across the gym to your little friend over there with the socks pulled up to his knees and the front part of what's left of his hair slicked back with gel. You have a gut that hangs down so low I bet it's impossible for you to even get it up. So shut your mouth and do your crunches. Asshole.
"This reminds me of when I played running back back in high school."
Yeah too bad that was three DECADES ago. Now the only running your back is doing is running over the waistband of your pants.
"I still work out, though. You know, to keep my muscles JACKED and inTACT."
Ooooo...fat boy can RHYME! News flash, bud. She's NOT INTERESTED. Even if she was, she isn't now considering the fact that you're hitting on her as she is sitting on a rubber ball bouncing up and down and you looked at her breasts at every other word you said. Even if she was, she isn't now considering the fact that you have shaved calves and man boobs. Even if she was, she's isn't now considering the fact that YOU'RE WEARING A WEDDING RING. Asshole.
I realize that women go through this as well. They get the fake tans and the fake boobs and the shirts that say, "GOOD GURL GONE BAD" on them and they walk like they have a stick up their ass which is probably some anti-aging technique we don't know about, and they wear hot pink sports bras to do the elliptical on and they pierce their navels and yeah, it's pretty bad. But are they telling men about their cheerleading days? Are they looking at other men and licking their two front teeth? Are they making jokes about being wet? Are they sporting the mid-life crisis sideburns? HELL. NO.
So yeah, I'm whining and crying about Beevis and Butthead. I'm complaining and bitching about Thing One and Thing Two. I'm moaning and groaning about Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. I could just not go back. It's simple. I could skip the work-out I enjoy because two buttheads enjoy it a little too much. I could sit at home and eat Ding-Dongs while those two jerks make jokes about their own Ding-Dongs. It's simple. But I'm not gonna do it. I'm having a Rocky moment here. I'm the eye of the tiger. I'm gonna keep on going. I'm not gonna quit. Because even though those two make me want to rip my own head off and shove it into their tennis shoes to bite at their heels as they do suicides, they give me something to laugh about. And of course, write about.