 
  
 
  
|
 |
Are you bleeding? Are you broken? Are you dead? Notes from a bi-coastal gym rat.
A gym is a funny thing. It takes a while to find the right one. I was in LA for a year & a half before I joined a gym. I went on tours of a couple different ones intermittently (because if there's anything that might outnumber the amount of implants in LA, it's the plethora of gyms), and ended up walking out disgusted.
Eventually, I found my present gym, and you know what? It's kind of like being the new kid at school. You've been to school, you have a good idea of what's going to happen at school, but you still feel like the biggest idiot ever, and any minute now someone's going to walk up & tell you that there was a mistake, so could you please leave quietly? Now take that feeling and increase it on an exponential level because you're in LA and the median body fat percentage is less the average yearly rainfall in the Sudan. Spiffy.
Yet, a gym is a gym is a gym. No, really. Maybe I don't know everyone by name, but I can find my homeroom and I know where the cafeteria is. Yes, I'll grant you, there are differences. For example, they literally have a system where you check in for your personal training sessions according to the heat signature of your hand so that other people can't steal your appointments. I didn't realize that there had been a personal training session theft ring prevalent in Los Angeles, but if there wasn't before, I certainly don't have to worry about there being one now. The instructors here have head shots by the front door, but when I showed up for my first boxing class I got the crap beaten out of me just as I'd have expected to find back East. Once you get past the guys that are showing off and the girls hoping that whoever's next to them on the elliptical is a producer Ð a gym is a gym is a gym, and I had a crappy fucking day at work, so someone had better get off the elliptical machine because it's going to take at least half an hour of cardio before I'll be less than a hazard to the safety of others.
Am I perfect? Nope. Will there be any modeling contracts coming my way? As. If. Is my clothing size even in the single digits? Oh hell no. But. I will say this. A couple of days ago, I went for a run in my neighborhood. I forgot to take off my watch, and ended up keeping time Ð three miles in 26 minutes. That's a little over an eight and a half minute mile. When I realized that, a part of my brain wanted to track down every gym teacher I'd ever had so I could go, "Ha! Fucking ha! Screw Regan's Presidential Fitness Tests! He couldn't have done that even when he was alive! Ha!"
So before you skip your workout tonight, ask yourself the following questions - Are you bleeding? Are you broken? Are you dead?
No?
Then why aren't you working out?
~ Claris
June 14, 2004
|
Because I can bench press you, that's why.
(tips tricks for general gym survival)
Street Cred -
the Ins, Outs, & What Abouts...
What Keeps Me On The Cardio Machines -
what's spinning in my CD player right now...
|
