the gym...

Oh, how I hate you, the gym. On the original attempt at typing that first sentence, I wrote that I hate the gyn. From stories I have heard, I assume that would be true as well, but right now, I reserve my hate for the GYM.
It is disgusting. It kinda smells bad and exercise itself makes me sick.
I mean, physically sick. I never quite come to the point of throwing up, but I come close quite a bit. Some people tell me that is because I am doing it right, some people tell me it is because I am doing it wrong. That's something else I hate about it. No one knows what the hell they are talking about.
Too much weight.
Not enough weight.
Eat more protein.
What are you eating? That's way too much protein!
Do more cardio.
No, seriously. Do a lot more cardio.
Did you do cardio yet?

I am at the gym at least four times a week. Sometimes five.
I hate every second of it.
I don't hate what it has done for my physical appearance, however. I don't hate that people cannot believe I am 38.
One especially demented girl not long ago told me she thought I was about 26.
Jenn laughed and laughed at that. I assume she laughed because there is no way someone as well-spoken, well-rounded and mature as myself could possibly be only 26.
Yes. That is what I assume. Shut up.
I can say this:
Jenn and I found my passport recently. The picture in it was taken almost ten years ago. I look older and more haggard in that picture than I do now, a lot more.
Those who know me will tell you my life was quite a different place ten years ago and maybe that had a lot to do with how I looked then.
Maybe I'll get into that someday. What my life was once like.
Maybe I've gotten into it enough already.
We'll see.
Here's a funny thing. For a normal guy walking around, I am in pretty good shape. For a gym guy, I am pretty much a mess.
To resume the original topic, there is one thing I REALLY hate about the gym. People who want to "work in" with you. I am in the middle of my stupid exercise on my stupid machine, resting between reps when some lummox comes up and moves his lips at me. Moves his lips because I have headphones in. This invention has been around for sometime and I would guess that everyone knows when someone has headphones on THEY CAN'T HEAR YOU, so standing there moving your muscley face at me isn't going to do you any good.
What's even better is the freaks who stand in front of you and stare without saying anything until you take your headphones off and ask them what the hell they want, nicely, because sometimes they look like they could eat your car.
"Mind if I work in with you?"
Yeah. I kinda do mind.
"Well. Are you gonna rest between sets?"
At this point I look around at the 17,000 other unoccupied machines and look back at him. Is there nothing else you could do with your bulk while I finish here for God's sake?
Could you go bench New Jersey or something? I don't want to watch you make a big show about sliding the weight selector alllll the way to the bottom of the stack then move it waayyy back up to my puny selection when you are done.
I am really trying to keep this area expletive free, but oohh I wanna swear at you right now.
Go do some cardio and get off the damned computer.