tales from the gym

i hate working out.
let me say that, first and foremost.
with a fiery-hot passion.
but i also hate being fat.
so it is off to the gym every tuesday and thursday i go.
i have a weight training class i'm taking from 11 to 12 (11 in the morning, mind y'all. that means for my next and last class, lucky girl that i am, i get to be first hot and sweaty, then cold and sweaty when the air conditioning kicks in. and, since it's a fairly large psychology class, of course i'm sitting ret next to an attractive man. and not just next to him--we are pressed together, thigh to sweaty thigh. *sigh*). i've taken it before at community college, but it is nothing like doing it at uta. i've noticed things.
strange things.
strange people doing these strange things. let me postulate.
for example, there is:

• creepy gym guy--i've never seen him lift nary a weight; walk, trot, gallop, nothing on a tredmill or elliptical; or hit a lick doing anything at all. all he does is sit on various machines with a (dry) towel and his (unused) weight lifting gloves and stare at people. mostly girls. it is disconcerting, to say the least, to get that last rep in on the glute machine and turn around to see him leering at your butt like it is an island in the distance, and he's a drowning man.
• over-achievers--(known in the black male form as Beefitus negro) there is nothing more shame-inducing than (a) being next to somebody on the treadmill running at like 15, on an incline of 47, while here deven goes...at 3. (b) going after somebody on a weight machine, and they have the seat adjusted for their herman munster height, and the weight was on like 250, and i have to jack the seat up to midget status and move the weights to 75. and then to have someone come after you get off, and snort at the puny amount you can do? i 'bout near cried. or (c) being next to someone on the rowing machine--my personal nemesis. i go in to the gym every time saying i'm going to show that durn concept 2 who the boss is, 'cause i paid the cost, thank-you-very-much. and err single time i get off, it essentially tells me, "deven, you are the weakest link, goodbye!"--and they pulling like they really on a boat or sum'n. so i can't look like no punk, right? i mean, i'ma broad, but a pussy i am not, dig? so i gotta pull hard too. and i come away thinking, 'oh yeah, that wasn't too bad.' but i wake up in the morning feeling (not like diddy, i can tell you THAT) like somehow i've become a paraplegic, from the waist up. 'cause my legs work fine, if it wasn't leg day, anyway. i just can't move my arms to save my life. literally. if a bus was hurtling towards me, and the only way i'll be saved is if i can lift my arms above my head...just know that i've already resigned myself to my tragic fate and repented of my many sins.
• the improperly attired--(i really can't talk. every time i wear a dress, it rains. and the last time it snowed, i was wearing a tank top and to'-up jeans) but i see women dressed in the same ish they wore to the club last night. they just have sneakers on now. we talking booty shorts, leggings as pants, sports bras that need retiring, because they ain't supporting nathan (but procreation, rip biggie) and as someone with a chest that's blessed, i just don't understand how you running with them bouncing like that. makes me sore just watching. and then the girls with full faces of makeup on...the point is what? then the dudes...men aren't as bad, maybe just 'cause i don't mind when they slip up and show skin *perv, yes i am* but the other day i saw a guy with a: too-tight ed hardy shirt, sagging skinny jeans, fake jordans (covered in plastic smh, i wasn't close enough to see if the little man was catching a football instead of a basketball, but they were fake, trust), a high top fade colored burnt orange, and to complete the ensemble, a weight belt cinched just so around his robust frame--'cause homie was husky. not a good look. another guy i saw had legs the size of my arms...let that sink in a second...and we talking width, not length. i resolved right then and there to go on a j.j. evans diet. dude had mad nerve to expose them pasty-white toothpick legs like that.

i'm so tempted to go every day, just to see what other foolish people come in, but i think i'd muuuch rather be fat, lazy and happy.