A Trip to the Gym!

One of my friends just told me a horror story of his first time at the gym. It involved an iPod, a treadmill and a high speed collision with the floor. The story ended something to the effect of “Yeah I haven’t gone to the gym since”. Someone else confirms that this is one of their worst nightmares.
I guess one moral of the story is that this could happen to anyone clumsy enough to drop his iPod. The other is a question: What’s up with the gym? I decided to investigate.
I sacked up to take the walk across Mohegan Ave. I didn’t go alone though; I’m not big enough for that, plus it seemed like a trip for two, as going out to dinner solo is kind of sad. Rolling in solo in my XS camo wife beater felt like something Johnny Drama would do. Besides I drop weights like it’s my job.
So I made it a man-date, taking my friend up on his nagging offer to hit the gym. In the effort to keep him anonymous, I’ll only give away his nickname, the “Kleidsdale,” because he’s a big dude. We’re both excited, knowing it’ll be nothing short of romantic. Ever since the treadmill-nightmare though, I’m a little nervous. The gym seems intimidating, and it feels like my grand opening. Kleidsdale assures me I just need to assert my masculinity. I mentally fast-forward to myself peeing a wide circle around my corner of the gym, alpha male style. But I figure my scrappy product of No Shave November will have to do.
Immediately upon entering I notice my first problem with the gym. There are chicks. My self-esteem agrees to go into hibernation for the next hour-and-a-half, and I start urgently suggesting we hit the track. (This will later be equally emasculating because the field hockey team will witness me slowly drop out behind my workout partner after two 400 meter runs). For now, though, I commit. We alternate doing squats, Kleidsdale adding an extra 90 pounds each time I nonchalantly return the bar home.
I look around. It seems like a general trend to look confused and walk around in circles when not actually lifting or staring at your gym buddy. A solid looking group of bros was chilling hard around the bench press. I make a mental note: wear mid-calves next time. I put on a tough guy face while I take off the Dale’s weights, who casually remarks that the form of the aforementioned bros is atrocious. He’s a champ.
Ten minutes later my body has had just about enough of the gym. Time to start taking copious water breaks, stretching, and generally doing nothing. This doesn’t look weird though, because it turns out everyone else is doing the same thing. In fact, I think if you look around the gym at any given time maybe one fifth of the people there are actually doing something. Realistically, this is why everyone just stares at each other, or at the yoga pants running on the treadmills. Save one older professor holding down the fort in the vortex of bro-flow.
Later, I’m lying with my back on the grass pretending not to watch field hockey practice. My body has just about given up on me, and YOLO is no longer enough of a reason to endure the gym. Hitting the gym gave me some perspective on staying fit at Conn, which I’ve boiled down to a few tips for non-athletes looking to release some good old endorphins.
One: Going to the gym is a social experience, shower before and after, and wear your nicest Under Armour
Two: Having an intimidating athletic friend is probably good for you in the long run.
Three: There is a pretty direct cause and effect relationship between treadmills and looking like an idiot.
Four: If you’re not athletic, Tip #3 applies to all machines in the gym.
I guess the moral of my story is that there’s no real reason we should be intimidated by the gym, but then again I haven’t gone back since either. •