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If you live in a barren northern wasteland like myself, you need to find a tactics to jump-start your life anyway you can. Because cocaine is illegal and dangerous and too much coffee gives me heartburn, I’ve taken to exercising at a gym as a means of routinely giving my body the physical exertion needed to convince myself I am not, in fact, a human larvae slowly decroding inside a wintery cocoon.
I generally mind my own business– I go in, do my routine, and then go home so I can spend another 18 consecutive sedentary hours drooling in front of a computer screen. But I can’t help but notice that there are 7 strong archetypal gym-goers. I hate to stereotype people (jk it’s easy and convenient) but the consistency of the motifs is too obvious to ignore. If you regularly go to the gym, you’ve seen these types of people. And if you go to the gym and you don’t see these types of people, it’s because you are one.
Do you know what zumba is? It’s dancing your mom does. Have you ever seen the dance Elaine does in Seinfeld where it’s like kicks and hand flicks and stuff? Zumba is kinda like that except someone is telling what you to and everyone is concentrating super hard. There is a distinct class of people who go to the gym solely for the purpose of Zumba. They’re moms clad in neon animal print tights, flocking to and from whatever backroom your gym has vaguely designated as a space for “aerobics”.
I don’t know if old women like to hang out naked in gym locker rooms, but old guys really do. I mean, they really do. One time I went to my gym, saw an old naked dude just sitting on the bench in the locker room, ran 5 miles on the treadmill, came back and he was still sitting there, still naked. I don’t even think he ever worked out, I think he just loves being nude around other guys who are potentially also nude. It’s not even in an erotic way, it’s not like he gets off to this– I think it’s that he just longs for a time when men were men and also naked.
Every rep requires a verbal explosion. Every completed set requires high-fives. Maybe he’ll even have his bro slap him in the face a little, who cares, whatever gets him PUMPED. Yells A Lot also can be called Spends A Lot because, despite not having the outward appearance of someone with the mental stability to hold down a job, he spends hundreds of dollars a month on supplements. Hundreds of dollars on protein powders and amino-acids and pulverized shark-cartilage and bovine testosterone boosters that are ensured to give him the gains he needs. I don’t know why he needs them, but he does, and it’s definitely not linked to an underlying sense of inadequacy because, have you seen his truck? It’s as loud as a goddam airplane.
This is more in urban areas filled with a high density of account manager types who work long hours for menial pay and find themselves stuffing their faces with honey-buns and sugar-saturated gas station lattes on the morning commute. He or she (most often he) doesn’t have time to work out after work, but is very self-conscious about his paunch belly he earned from years of consuming fast-food type meals that are only deemed digestible because he’s been subjecting his innards to this type of esculent torture for years. Seriously, he’s like a vulture, that dude could digest a 2-inch steel bolt. As a result of this terrible and unhealthy lifestyle resulting in a body a la the green science-demons in Flubber, he feels obligated to workout any way he can, mostly because his Tinder pic is from 4 years ago and if he ever builds up the gall to ask a girl on a date, she’s going to be extremely disappointed on how gelatinous he is. So he uses his lunch break to walk down to the gym, use the elliptical for a half hour, then trudge his sweaty pig body back to work so all his co-workers can be subjected to glistening presence/stench. It’s terrible for everyone, really.
“About to go workout!!!!”
“Gettin’ swole ;)”
“i dont know how people who dont go to the gym live LOVE THIS”
are all examples of things that the social sharer will say before he or she goes to the gym. Maybe they aren’t even going to the gym, that’s not what matters– what matters is that all their friends and acquaintances think they work out because otherwise posting on Facebook and twitter all day looks like you’re pathetic and unemployed. Bonus points if they are constantly sharing mirror pics midworkout.
I get it, you could be my grandpa but are still somehow in better shape than me, there is no reason to tell me about how you used to be an olympic speed skater back in the 50s or how your grandson plays for the Marlins, I don’t care, just let me do my tricep pushdowns in peace. Even though you still do 2 marathons a year, you’re still going to die before me. I want you to know that. I’m going to eat cronuts on your grave, old man… cronuts on your grave!
I have a confession: I am this person. I am a gym troll. You probably don’t ever see this person (me) because you’re a normal human and don’t workout at 3 am because of the things that inhibit that, like a normal job or a normal family or any semblance of a normal life, but I, however, have none of these things and therefore can watch late-night reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond at the gym to my hearts content. You know what sounds good? Feeling so guilty from the two Taco Bell Crunch Wrap Supremes I had at lunch that I can’t sleep so then I go to the gym in the middle of the night and run until I feel like I’ve burnt off those delicious calories. Yeah, let’s do that every other Tuesday the end of time. Perf. There are only a few people at the gym at this hour and we all have a mutual agreement to ignore eachother at all costs, such is the life of a troll.