Training. Working Out.
Doing something more than nothing.
Sweating, again, and doesn’t it feel good?
At a local gym.
Vibe To The Joint.
Sanitized to clinical standards.
Creamsicle walls. Evidently, a real color courtesy of the paint-tinting intelligentsia at Sherwin-Williams.
“Yeah, its orange enough, Carl.”
Chameleon-like in a pretty Tangerine-hued Nike Dri-Fit workout top.
Marketing-speak for 100% Polyester. Fancy.
Another in a punchy shade of Blood Orange by adidas.
What’s this fetish I have for variants of Pumpkin-toned athletic wear?
Just a stage.
THIS DOESN’T EXPLAIN
My Avocado-Sage (Champion) and Blueberry (Under Armour) schmatta’s also lining my dresser. And, a laundry basket of others.
Regaled in full gym ensemble, I could pass for a Brand Ambassador of Frozen Yoghurt, which I suspect is made on premises by Oompa Loompas.
Or, disenfranchised Keebler Elves that couldn’t hack it in the cut-throat cookie baking trade.
The Snug Sausagey Fit.
A little too clingy in the torso.
So, you know I’ve lived the part.
I’m slimming into it. Purposely. Gradually. Getting there.
End oversharing and blatant brand-whoring references.
No one pays ad placement fees to a blogger with a couple dozen Followers.
“Ouch goes the truth …”
I’m looking for both.
“EVERY BODY HAPPY – NO JUDGEMENT”
Corporate Fitness Life Mantra … Splattered Everywhere.
Sure. It sells.
The Millennial Congregation – its core demographic – buys in.
I dig it.
CHEAP & CHEERFUL
Is What You Pay For.
Over crowded …
Is What You Get.
“Not quite a School of Formerly Happy Sardines jam packed-in-brine … in a pull tab, single-serving, self-contained metal can.”
But getting there.
Monday being “International Bench Press Day” for every pectoral-envy male under 100.
DIRTY MAN BUNS
Have Invaded My Gym.
Infested with Up-Do’s … that Don’t … and Shouldn’t … be a thing.
Mercy, por favor:
“Can’t We Bring Back Greasy Ponytails?”
Hair Bunioned Hipster Samurai’s.
A sure sign of The Neo Apocalypse.
They do know tattooed arm sleeves are permanent, right?
Way Too Much.
Because this is what I do whenever I lapse from judging and pointing and ridiculing.
Guffawing, snickering … from my soapbox atop the Elliptical.
I am not nice.
I Don’t Actually Do These Things.
Okay, I almost never do.
I think about doing them.
Which still makes me the Dink of Dinks.
I am not nice.
FUN FACT CONFESSION
A Dozen Epic Fails …
Observed everyday at the Brodeo:
Are Still Illegal On Men.
They will never be legalized.
You can join the surging Lobby to oppose their movement by clicking here.
Ragazzi, I’d rather see you wearing a Kilt – going full Commando in the under carriage sans the essential man-scaping – and squatting deep.
Lunging it out … if you must.
Or kicking it high in a chorus line …
Than watch you sport cropped Spandex.
Wear it to the ankle or at the knee. Either. Or.
This is your fault.
2. MIRROR, MIRROR
Wait For it … Here Comes The Hypocrisy … Shrine To Self.
How many mirrors have you flirted with, Mick?
Public mirrors are not private mirrors.
“What You Do In The Mirror Doesn’t Stay In The Mirror.”
It reflects and amplifies through the Universe.
Occasionally, I catch a glimpse of the Horror Show reflecting back at me.
Because I stare way too much.
3. DO NOT MAKE UP NEW EXERCISES
That Have No Foundation In Accepted Tenets of Modern Human Kinesiology.
Muscles either Push or Pull.
Finger Curls and Reverse Wrist Shrugs using cable pulleys or 1/2 lb. dumbbells are good for Jack Snap (merde).
How’s the pump, Brother?
The only thing these movements work is my patience.
And, tolerance, for embedded ignorance disseminated by Bro Science.
4. DUDES PLEASE PAY ATTENTION
Stop Gawking And Learn Something From The Sisterhood.
They do it right.
And, wipe the machines after use.
5. GIVE IT A SPRITZ
See Last Point In 4) Above.
The Brodeo is equipped with a half dozen Spray Bottles and Paper Towel Dispensers.
These are not meant exclusively for cleaning your Cross Trainers.
And, no, not the preferred conduit to getting your Glow On.
Versace Man Eau Fraiche … Non!
Spritz. Wipe. Repeat.
6. IMAGINARY LAT SYNDROME?
There Is No Known Cure For ILS.
Another Brodeo Pandemic.
Flexing. What. Isn’t. There.
Good News: The Delusion is treatable.
By actually doing exercises that stimulate growth in the Latissimus Dorsi muscle.
That is, Chin Ups, Pull Downs, Rows …
Resistance training with weights.
7. THOSE ARE LEGS UNER YOU
Together, they amount to about 35% of your body weight.
So, they’re important.
And, inarguably the best body part – strength, aesthetics, appeal – when developed.
8. KEEP YOUR SHIRT ON
I’m Looking At You, Romeo Sauve …
I know I’ve been away for a bit.
Six-packs are cool.
Everyone likes them.
Just not yours.
As much as you do.
PSA: Gynecomastia isn’t pretty.
Cover Up, Darling.
Please, Take Your Sweet Ass Time.
Sit as long as you like on the machine.
I’ll wait. I’ve got all day … To watch you watch yourself.
And, oh, don’t bother using the machine for anything else but checking your texts.
Or, social media nanosecond updates.
One more Selfie.
Because you can never have enough.
That’s just not nice.
There Was A Time When Gym Buddies Shared.
A Spotter was always there – and you always need one – without asking.
You worked in a set or two together.
Made a gym pal.
Needed a quick set?
No Prob’s, Dude. Jump in.
Where’d Etiquette And Fraternizing Go?
11. GYM WHORES
If She/He Wanted To Hook Up …
It would’ve happened already.
You’d know all about.
Respect personal space.
There You Are.
Doing Your Thing.
How you do it.
Head down. Grinding. Muscles aching.
Panting, panting, panting.
Sweating, Piggy style.
Good For You.
Self Loving It Up.
Slurping a Tangelo Yoghurt Protein Smoothie.
Photo by Victor Freitas