Well it's summer so I started going back to the gym after a month's hiatus during finals. I started to notice that the gym has some stereotypical members, which I decided to list below:
The owner: He’s hip. He’s cool. He owns a warehouse full of heavy weights. Whatever pubescent issue he’s trying to resolve lets just thank the Good Lord that he didn’t, instead, open up one of those record stores that stink of incense, hemp, and pretension.
The Fat Guy/Girl: The journey of a 1000 miles begins with a single step. No one said that step wouldn’t be supported by a bloated ankle covered in sweat. I really admire these people because it’s got to be hard wearing a sweatpants and a sweatshirt in the only place where wearing a unitard is acceptable.
The Skinny Kid: I used to be one of these really painfully thin kids who the school nurse would take aside and ask what my parents fed me the night before. I eventually got a normal metabolism but there are still plenty of Arnold Schwarzeneggers out there trapped in Mohatma Gandhi’s body. Such is life, for every lithe Kate Moss, there is a scrawny Topher Grace. I have to say that I find it comical to see a 120 lbs guy struggle with a 20 lbs of weight but there’s probably a guy who’s like 250 who laughs at me.
The Gay Guy: If you keep meeting your goals at the gym and don’t fall off the wagon (like I always do) there are two people that you will hope to become, the steroid monkey guy, who’s neck is bigger than his head, or that guy who seems to manage that delicate balance between size and tone. Wait a minute! Why does that guy have his hair done while he works out? Why is he wearing designer work out clothes? Why have I seen him in the real world working at Express for Men?
The Hot Girl: She’s willing to wear spandex in public! There is no greater vote of confidence in one’s body. Oh, to be one of those machines she works out on! But don’t try and make eye contact or even dare a smile, she’ll look right through you. You may think she’s being a jerk. But, when you’re that hot, your body is probably your livelihood and, therefore, you’re workout should be all business. Don’t think ill of her, just enjoy the view and dismiss her dismissal. After all, as the song says, “Baby, you’ve got to be cruel to be kind”
The Roid-Monkey: This guy kills me. Actually, if he wanted to, he could physically kill me. But, No matter how big this guy gets, no matter how much his veins bulge, no matter how many things he eats or drinks that end in the suffix “plex,” I will always be, at 6’3”, at least 6 inches taller than this guy. These guys are always short and trying to resolve some self-esteem problem. In his quest for physical “perfection” the Roid-Monkey will always be Icarus: too far from being the bird, his vision of ideal masculinity, and too close to the sun, testicular cancer.
