Back to the Y

So, after a months-long hiatus, I finally made it back to the gym today. With all of my various trips, ailments, bouts of laziness and tobacco-assisted weight control, I’d managed to avoid the YMCA since sometime last summer. But the combination of holiday gluttony and the almost-but-not-entirely-successful resolution to kick the nicotine habit resulted in a shocking and horrifying run-in with my scale last week: a six pound gain – all of it in my belly, natch, i.e. I still have scrawny arms and a flat ass, but they’re now combined with a protruding belly. Yes, I’m bringing the hawtness…

Anyway, I was sure the Y would be especially horrible. January is the worst month, since everyone is acting on their resolution to get in shape – and most of them are annoying newbies who hog the equipment they don’t know how to use, courting injury and annoying the regulars. But the gym was blessedly empty and I was in and out with nary a problem. Granted, I only did cardio, so I didn’t have to do battle in the free weight area for a bench – but I did have plenty of room on the stretching mats post-elliptical-machine. I even managed to avoid eye-contact with Mr. I’m-Raping-You-With-My-Eyes (yes, of course he’s still there all the time…)

But I should’ve known it was too good to last. I got back to the locker room which was nearly empty – except for some dude using the locker directly next to mine. Ugh. Honestly, when there are plenty of empty lockers, doesn’t it make sense to choose one that is not right next to one already occupied? Apparently not…  But whatever, shit happens I guess. Except he was humming. Yes, that’s right – humming! And no, he didn’t let up – not once. Just stone-cold humming, humming and humming. I think I muttered, “Shut the fuck up.” And by “muttered”, I mean “said aloud in what most people consider a normal conversational volume” (normal conversational volume for me, as all who know me are aware, is shouting. But he just kept on humming and tra-la-la-ing…)

Then a couple of other chatty dudes showed up. And one of them launched into a monologue about having to wait for a “lockbox” (i.e. the penny lockers outside the locker room to store one’s wallet and phone) since they were all full. He couldn’t use the ones on the gym floor, since that would’ve required walking up a flight of stairs (I know! God forbid one should exert oneself at the gym!). So he had to sit and wait for ten minutes until one of the “lockboxes” was vacated. He kept saying “lockbox” over and over again. Seriously, I don’t think even Al Gore used the word “lockbox” that many times. And Al Gore certainly didn’t have to tolerate any nude humming in his vicinity…

Anyway, I’ll be back tomorrow as I continue my concerted effort to minimize my striking resemblance to Jabba the Hut. Good times!