Dealing With Gym Intimidation

"I'm not sure how well this is working out, Larry," I said finally.

 

We were sitting in the back seat of a downright palatial limo this morning. It was about 2:00 and I had left Sheree dozing in bed to answer a soft knock at our bedroom door.

 

It was Olaf, Larry Talbot's six foot eight manservant/minion. How he got into our house and past our trained attack cat (Winnie), I will never know. But I answered the knock and was ushered downstairs...all of which is the Reader's Digest version of how I came to be in the back seat of Larry's car in a t-shirt and boxers (my standard sleeping gear.)

 

"What do you mean?" asked Larry, his voice an arctic baritone.

 

"I mean some people think I'm nuts. Others have no idea what I'm -- I mean you're -- doing...even Sheree thinks you and I are the same guy."

 

Larry snorted. Not a pretty sound. I heard Olaf giggle from the front seat without turning around...also not a pretty sound.

 

"Poppycock," hissed my childhood friend. "Utter poppycock."

 

"You gotta quit saying shit like that, Larry," I said finally. "No one actually says 'poppycock' anymore. Makes you sound like a villain in a James Bond movie...or a cross-dresser from Queens. And we're getting off topic."

 

"Ah yes," he said. "People don't think I'm real. What does Easy Rider think?"

 

"Well...Easy Rider pretty much understands me. So he's fine. It's the other people."

 

Larry's lips compressed themselves into a knife-thin line. "You've shown them pictures of me, yes?"

 

"Well...yeah."

 

"So?"

 

"So what?"

 

"Larry -- they think I took the pics of me...and just said they're you."

 

"Poppycock," said Larry again.

 

I sighed and let it slide.

 

"Do the gym intimidation article today," he said finally.

 

I sighed and shook my head sadly. "That's not gonna help, man."

 

"Do you go to the gym?" demanded Larry.

 

Olaf snorted. Again. I briefly considered smacking the back of his head...but then came to my senses.

 

"No. I hate gyms," I said.

 

"So when you run the article, they will know it was I, Larry Talbot. And that I, Larry Talbot, am, in fact real."

 

"Really?" I asked.

 

He nodded emphatically.

 

So here it is:

 

 

HOW TO DEAL WITH GYM INTIMIDATION

 

by L. Talbot

 

It can be difficult to deal with intimidation at the gym when you're the "Before Picture." We "Before Pictures" are usually glum looking black and white people making no effort whatsoever to suck in our stomachs. Our entire presence is a resigned sigh. We never smile and there's an overall unhealthy look to us.

 

Much as I aspire to be the "After Picture" Guy with washboard abs, glistening teeth and an air of smug assurance, I know it's a long, long LONG way off. That's why I deal with gym intimidation by pretending to be indifferent to the pitying looks from all the "After Picture" people.

 

I remind myself that they are young and I am old. They can eat seven boxes of cookies and won't gain an ounce. If I eat a forkful of chocolate cake I will blow up like a self inflating raft and whalers will try to put a harpoon into me on my next trip to the beach.

 

So I slink into the change room and put my workout clothes on very quickly. I try to ignore the strutting naked guys (some of whom really need to reconsider BOTH the strutting and the naked parts) in the change room, lace up my sneakers and walk into Hell.

 

I am surrounded by Gym Bunnies. . . who you may know as the little slips of female matter that don't sweat and (I am reasonably certain) never actually work out. They are perfectly color coordinated and ALWAYS wear something skin-tight. This means that, out of respect for my wife, I will take off my glasses -- which transforms me into a half blind round little guy trying to find his way to the treadmill.

 

The Gym Bunnies feed on the attention they get from the Big Muscle Guys who are nearly always in the weight area, grunting and straining against massive loads they are curling, lifting, dropping and/or pushing. The BMG's (Big Muscle Guys) make a number of very loud "look at me" male noises as they work out.

 

When not sounding like fiercely constipated elephants, or admiring themselves in the mirror, the BMG's surreptitiously ogle the Gym Bunnies. Occasionally there will be actual interaction between a Gym Bunny and a BMG but not often. The ogling of the BMGs and the prancing of the Gym Bunnies is more ritual than substance. That's what I hear anyway.

 

Another strategy for dealing with gym intimidation: I will try to find a treadmill next to a guy who is fatter than me. Hopefully he is going to be sweating in a completely undignified manner and puffing like the Little Engine That Could. I want to work out next to him because he will make me look thinner and faster.

He'll look up at me with tired resigned eyes.

 

He knows why I have sought him out. So do I.

 

I'll smile brightly and do my stretching exercises. Maybe we'll nod at each other. Maybe not.

I'll mount the treadmill and start walking quickly.

 

He'll crank his up to a speed of 6 or so and for ten or twelve seconds we will both be tremendously impressed as he actually manages not to puke. But he'll reach forward with trembling fingers to reduce the speed and settle back into a slow walk.

 

He'll sneak a look around to check if anyone has noted his athletic prowess and when his eyes rest finally on me I'm ready with a nod and a thumbs up. He'll acknowledge it coolly. But inside I know that he's happy. It's always a joy to be noticed...even if it's just another Round Little Guy.

 

I'm happy too.

 

A blow has been struck against gym intimidation.

 

I am in the process of getting a gym t-shirt made. It will say "Gaze in Wonder, you Before Pictures! One Day You’re Gonna Look Just Like THIS!"

Done