Uncleanly

I go to the gym on a pretty regular basis. I hate going to the gym, but I go, being anal about paying for something and having to get my money's worth.

My gym visit usually lasts from 1.5 hours to maybe 2. Most of it sometimes is due to my sitting on the damned machines after a "set" day dreaming, stroking the end of my braid which curls like a piggy tail or staring at the television during boring Jeopardy! or Wheel of Fortune.

In between the routine I established for myself, you know, arc trainer, weights, crunches, sit ups, leg work and stretching, I go to the bathroom to clean off what ever gross shit I got from whatever was left on the machine I just used, since the gym is a haven for germs and God knows what else.

The ladies' locker room has a tile floor which despite whatever scrubbing they do, it still looks dirty.

So I go to the sinks, which is the closest to the entrance to the locker room. Usually I have to leave the area because some gross slob who just used the facilities and who must have eaten the worst kind of food, that they had to deposit it in the gym toilet and stink up the place.

On this particular day, there was no sewer smell to deal with. So I go and start to wash my hands and I cannot help but hear the loud cackle coming from two of the three stalls behind me.

I notice that one of the ladies is standing in the stall in her socks-on the gross tile floor in the stall that ALWAYS has issues-it is the most stopped up due to some sow taking a big crap that clogs the toilet-or there is pee all over the floor by the toilet and other disgusting things. Never once had I seen the cleaners clean the floors by the toilets. And this idiot not only is standing in her bare socks, but has ALL her clothes on the floor that she was changing into, despite the existence of a changing room with a door. Her pocket book and car keys where also on the floor.

So the two loudmouths exit as I was standing there being grossed out, thinking things like they probably go home and walk around their house in the same socks, their sneakers probably have so much filth and germs in there, that they should be thrown the hell out.

I see these two old biker type chicks, happy as clams with themselves. They both wash their hands, but I was thinking, you pigs, what about your disgusting feet and clothes you put on after they laid on the peed and pooped on floor that was probably never disinfected?

Blech.

Waifs

Ok, another gym post, but it is because I can't stand these two.

I look at them and I think freaking ass waifs. They are young, probably under 20. One is chunkier than the other, in a jock-ish sort of way who always has an almost severe pony tail she sports. The other, the more slender and feminate, wears her hair in different hair do's depending on which machine she is working, so it ranges from drippy down to oh so thrown together in a pony tail bun-you know the kind, you start to make a bun and then pull a long tail out of its middle and leave it there.

These two can't exercise unless they share machines, and trade off while talking like idiots. If they were talking trash, maybe I would be mildly entertained. But they don't.

While the jock-ish one exercises with more vigor, the slender one prefers to twirl her hair between her fingers, because at this time she is not actually on a machine; she is usually near one or leaning on one, while she profers her pearls of wisdom or is receiving them from the jock-ish one.

They have the most annoying habit of stopping in the middle of using the machines to contemplate what jewel of information the other may have just imparted to them. They both do it; and they would do themselves much good if they could produce and process information that does not make them look up for a while and then roll their eyes trying to figure out what was just told to them.

So while this is all going on, it interrupts my routine because I cannot do the circuit in the order I would like. When I go out of order, then they end up going out of order and it goes on and on, with each of them following the other with hair twirling and in depth conversation only those two nitwits can sustain.

Earlier tonight, they became my workout buddies. They were everywhere, in unison. When they were not chatting with each other, one would work the machine and the other would stand guard like a moronic statuette with the blank stare.

Finally one of them realized the spinning class was starting without them.

Oh, the joy of such small miracles.

Gym People

Being a member of the gym, club or whatever you call that sweaty establishment has disgusted me.

Yes, I hate going. Yes, I hate the damned sweating. Yes, I hate that the damned place is never cold in the summer or hot in the winter, but what I hate more, and yes hate is a strong word, but I use it often and loosely, regardless, is the gym people.

Yeah, that is what I call them. They make me sick.

When you go often enough as I have managed as of late, there are the annoying regulars.

One in particular is this lady. I cannot tell her age, but she is most likely 55 or older. I don't think she knows it either, which is OK, but she does absolutely nothing to help herself.

I am an irregular attender of the gym and she is there more often when I show up than not.

I can't tell if she had a bad tan (it is winter, I know), a bad dye job substituting for a tan, or that is her real skin color. She makes it worse by wearing dark blue and black. It makes her look darker. She wears shorts so you can get a good look at her almost slender, bumpy thighs. Her hair is coarse and straw like, not good qualities when your hair is a deeper black than India Ink.

But the worst indescretions occurs in the ladies' locker room. She walks around naked.

Can I go to the sink to wash off the sweat that was pouring from me after 30-40 minutes of doing the arc trainer? Yes, I can, but as soon as I look into the mirror, there she is bent over, naked, with her boobs swinging. I mean those suckers have got to be real, they jiggle like jello while pointing straight down. I guess it was important to be bent over once you get out of the shower and have to crouch in the shower aisle.

Today, I walked in after the arc trainer and there she is, reaching up for something on the wall, naked, now with her boobs, which of course where a different color than the rest of her, sticking straight out and looking like a tiny cone.

I don't know if I can handle being grossed out on every gym day.

Modesty is certainly lacking in the locker room and I feel captive, not being able to do anything about it at all.

Today my concerns where dwarfed by a severely overweight from the waist down woman with a delicate and tiny head. She was shellacking her hair in order to go and languish on the tread mill.

Unbelievable.