The gym

I'd like to introduce you to my metabolism.

I can hit the gym hard, seven days a week, for six months. I can sustain myself by chewing one green leaf a day like the bald kid in The Golden Child. And all I have to do is walk past a McDonalds and all the weight comes rushing back. This is because I have a sloth for a metabolism and he thinks it's funny to torment me.

A few months ago at work a team photo was taken. I looked like one of those fat, wrinkly Chinese dogs. I've been in the gym ever since. So far I've lost six pounds and have developed some semblance of my old muscle tone. In my mind that translates to like twenty pounds and Arnold Schwarzenegger so I'm strutting around like  Charlie Sheen's ego right now.

The guy who works the breakfast grill at work calls me big guy, as in "Heya Big Guy, what can I get you?"

And I'm thinking 'Hey, hey, hey man...easy with the Big Guy sh*t. I'm five foot freaking eight, that means you're just calling me fat. I'm down six pounds. Can't you see that?'

I don't say anything. He's the kind of guy that calls all the female customers honey or darling. Besides, as a general rule of thumb, I do not argue with people who cook my food. I used to work in the restaurant industry. Believe me, angering the folks that handle your grub is not wise. 

I have a nemesis at the gym.

He looks a little like Lindsay Lohan's father. By that I mean you can just tell by looking at him that he's a prick. He stomps around. He slaps his membership badge down audibly at each station he works out at.

I don't even take the sweat yellowed T-shirts, hot pants-esque-old school basketball shorts/ flood water socks thing against him. Nope. I just think he lacks gym etiquette and I find that annoying.

He doesn't wipe up after himself and he sweats like a lawn sprinkler on full blast. He erratically moves from machine to machine doing cardio. Slamming the equipment and just overdoing it in general. He swings his whole body so that he can curl and push weights that are way out of his range. One day he's going to snap his back and a dumbbell is going to cruise across the sky. The guy is a menace.

Last week I'm on the elliptical next to him and he starts passing gas. I couldn't believe it. I'm clinging to my machine for dear life, pedaling like mad to keep my heart rate up and this SOB is dropping ruthless farts like it is no big deal. What do you even say to such an animal?

I coughed.

I gave him a dirty look.

"Thanks a lot guy." I said as I dismounted the machine. Dude didn't even break stride.

This weekend I'm auditioning new gyms. Thanks Mr. Lohan.