The day-to-day bane of being a super desirable female is made more cumbersome at the gym because most of the guys are really turned on by things that normal people (females) find unattractive.  Cases in point: The Hip Adductor and Hip Abductor, fantastic machines for working the inner legs by pushing weight in and out with the thighs.  Unfortunately this machine comes with an audience because men, bless their filthy little hearts, are programmed to crane their neck in non-nonchalant contrivances to get the best possible view of yoga-panted-lady-crotch.  I’ve got a good hypothetical remedy for discouraging such pervs but I don’t know if I have the balls (literally) to pull it off.  Anyway, it involves me putting a hotdog or cucumber in my pants the next time I use the machine.  As soon as the little perv makes his way over by my machine I confidently push out and say in my deepest voice, “You want some of this?”  The only problem is that I then become the freak.

Um, excuse me, my eyes are up here.

Speaking of which, you are probably already aware that every gym has their token freak show.  Ours is Frank.  Frank shies away from conventional methods of exercise like weight lifting and running on the treadmill.  His main workout consists of two very unique and slightly alarming routines:  The first is the one where he goes into the aerobics room and wriggles around frantically across the floor like an epileptic G.I.  The second is the one where he stacks up all the mats against the wall (and cops an attitude if anyone requests to use one for legitimate stretching) and flips back and forth against the mats like a fish out of water.  The only reason I know his name is Frank is because when the going gets tough, he motivates himself by screaming “COME ON FRANK!”  To bring himself up to this level of intensity he first warms up by pursing his lips and making sexy eyes at himself in the mirror.  This is followed by punching the air to the timing of “Eye of the Tiger.”  I give him the benefit of the doubt that he must be training for a super elite international security squad with alternative fighting methods.

Okay, I swear I started writing about the gym today because I wanted to motivate/inspire/move you to get off the couch and get healthy but since I’ve already opened up about the Crotch Watch and Side Show Frank, I’m just going to keep going until I’ve ripped everyone a new one.  So let’s move right along to those maniacs that pump their iron so fast you’re afraid of them losing their grip on the bar or blowing out a knee or elbow.  I’ve got a guy at my gym that brings it to a whole new level.  Instead of powering the elliptical with his legs like every other person I have observed, this guy goes into it all arms – one of his legs seems to keep his body steady while the other one just flops along for the ride.  This is preceded by standing in a corner and lifting imaginary weights in an erratic fashion.  He wraps up the show by laying face down on a mat, jerking his thumbs up in the air and belching out gut-wrenching moans.

Let us not forget the Broteins, as I like to call the guys who loudly carry out conversations similarly to this not entirely hypothetical one:  Ju watch the game last night, bro?  Yeah, that shit was sick bro.  I know, man, did you see when Darion made that sweet pass to Brown?  No, dude, I totally missed it because that Stephanie chick was calling me.  What Stephanie chick?  That ugly chick I hooked up with last weekend.  No wayyyy dude, you gave her your number, bro?  Yeah, her hot friend works at GNC and she said she could totally hook me up.  No way, bro, that’s tight as hell.

And no snarky inventory of the gym denizens would be complete without mentioning the gymbos – the women who sit on the stationary bikes and watch soap operas.  They have the stationary part down at least.

I don’t have anything against any of the aforementioned people because I think it’s good they’re making the effort in the gym, even if they do scare/annoy/creep out the other members.  Besides, who knows what they think about me.  I mean, you should see me run.  From what various witnesses have told me, it would seem that I run much the way you would expect a constipated gorilla with a sprained ankle to run.

Now that I’ve confirmed that everybody is indeed secretly laughing at you at the gym (your therapist was wrong), I hope you’re feeling motivated to stop sitting on your butt reading people’s blogs and get moving.  My next blog will follow me on my endeavor to become a more inspirational person.

Oh and could somebody please call the vet?  Cuz these puppies are sick: