Every time I start at a new gym, I kind of assess the people who are members. It has nothing to do with their ability, weight, age, etc. It mainly has to do with if they can handle me, and my mouth, being in their space, while I work out. I’d be lying if I said that I thought I was a pleasure to work out around. I know I’m not. I swear, make a scene, complain, huff..puff… I’m a mess. So, I assess the people around me.
This new gym has kind of a strange clientele, when I’m there. Mostly older people, on the cardio machines, and a few people, usually a little younger, on the weights. Oh, and there seems to be some sort of child gym training session going on at the same time I am there…which seems wildly inconvenient since I have the mouth of a trucker.
While getting to know the gym, and assessing the people, Franz tries to keep me on my best behavior. It really isn’t something he can control….but he attempts to do it anyways. During his latest attempt to control me, I met another staff member, when he was walking by us, and decided to stop for some comedic relief. I don’t know his name, so we will call him Bob. Everyone knows a Bob, right?
Bob has heard me tell Franz to shut up, and heard me complain, and heard me whine, and watched me lift, and watched me struggle. Yesterday, Bob walked up to Franz to make a little ‘ha-ha’ about me, and Franz took it upon himself to tell a story. A story about how he thinks that I look like the Hulk. Not the Hulk when he is fully muscular, green, and scary big. More like the Bruce Banner turning into the Hulk part of his identity, where he is basically moaning and groaning and making insanely ugly faces. Bob agrees with Franz, that yes, I sound like the Hulk, and then turns to me and says that I’m much too pretty to be the Hulk, and instead, I must be Wonder Woman. Well, how P.C. of you, Bob. Oh, and thanks Franz. If I didn’t think I was ugly when working out before, I know I am now.
Besides Bob, I seem to entertain many other people who are on the cardio machines, while I am lifting weights. From begging for my life when struggling to lift over my head as my arms shake, to telling Franz that I dream about killing him, I’m sure they have no idea what to think about us. Yesterday, I was switching between doing ten pull-ups, and then down to a bar, that was about 6″ from the ground, where I would do push-ups, and back again. I was on my last set of pull-ups, and I was struggling. I did the whole ‘kick your foot up as if that will help you lift yourself’ move, and I almost kicked Franz in the face. Right on queue, we both start dying laughing at each other, and can’t really catch our breath. Somehow, I finish the pull-ups, and turn around to head down to the bar. As I hop down, an older woman gets off the treadmill, and walks past Franz. As she passed, she says ‘Oh! Is she your girlfriend?’
Nervous laughter, ‘No, I’m her trainer…’, Franz responds.
Then he looks at me with the death stare.
‘People think I am your WEAK boyfriend, because of how you talk to me!’, he says. I start laughing, because she didn’t say anything to me…. It wasn’t like she said, Oh, be nice to your boyfriend. No, she was making sure that I wasn’t hurting his feelings. This much taller, bigger, and stronger man. THAT’S whose feelings she was worried about!! Amazing.
Ladies and Gentlemen… I have done my job.
Oh, besides making a scene when lifting, or when accidentally punching Franz in the baby maker, or crying for help when I feel like I’m truly dying… I also had the entire gym looking at me when I screamed because I almost fell off the treadmill.
And on that note, we’re done here.