I’m starting to hate the gym.
I should rephrase that.
I’m starting to hate MY gym because my gym is kind of an asshole.
It’s small. There is no child care. They have awesome machines that we are not allowed to use unless we pay for (semi) private sessions with one of their “trainers.”. They added a sauna, but you have to pay extra for it. The aerobics room is tiny and I almost always am tempted to “throw an elbow” because woman don’t respect (aerobic dancing) personal space. The mats are all ripped to shreds and are in desperate need of being replaced.
You know what else? The instructors at my gym are kind of awful. (with the exception of Aerobic Dance Queen, Anna.) The last time when I took Zumba (which, by the way, I need to write about) the instructor constantly talked about food. She would be all “woo! Think of all of the PIES! AND COOKIES! AND ICE CREAM! you can eat after burning all of these calories!” Not EVEN lying.
Here’s the thing.
I have no right to judge my gym. I am a gym Hot Mess.
I fit in perfectly! This gym was made SPECIFICALLY FOR PEOPLE LIKE ME!
Let me give you just a few examples of what I mean.
- I lost the rubber strap for my Generic mp3 player, so I use my cleavage to hold it when I’m working out or sometimes, I use the string of my sweats and tie that bitch all up in my waist area.
- I only have 2 pairs of workout pants. And both pair have holes in the crotch. And I can’t find my sewing kit.
- I can’t control my grunting. Nor can I control my occasional crying on the treadmill (not “sad” crying. But “fuck, yeah, My Body. YOU ARE DOING THIS.” crying.”)
- My ankle crack. Severely. Like, every single time I take a step, run, squat. If you think I’m exaggerating, here is some actual proof. (Yes. I youtubed that shit. FOR YOU!)
- Every towel I use at the gym is pretty much COVERED in bleach stains. I can’t bring myself to use my “good towels” to wipe other peoples ass sweat off the bike seat. I just can’t.
- I am gassy. And gas + any machine involving squeezing the lower half of my body= *pffrtattaaaataa*
- I have unusually tiny ears. So none of my headphones fit properly in my ears. They’re always falling out, so I’m constantly pushing them back in. And then, sometimes (and when I say “sometimes” I mean “pretty much every time I’m running), while I’m struggling to push one back in, the other one falls out and I lose control of my generic MP3 player and it falls out of my hands, hits the treadmill, goes flying across the gym.
You see? What right do I have to call my gym an asshole for having ripped up floor mats when I am walking around, squatting WITH HOLES IN THE CROTCH OF MY PANTS?
Maybe if my gym tried a little harder, I’d buy some new pants. Maybe if my gym got some new floor mats, I’d go buy a new arm strap for my mp3 player.
Step it up, My Gym. I need some motivation to be a Better Gym Person. I’m not getting it by looking at your broken machines with notes on them since JANUARY 14TH.