Rant: Gym Clowns

Even noobs on this site will have by now noted that I loves to eat me some food. After that, I love to shout about how much I love food. Because shouting – relatively speaking – is a bad way to burn all the calories I take in, I’m left with little alternative than to visit the gym on a regular basis.

This routine keeps the jiggling to a minimum and entropy at bay. At least for the moment. I have a moderately simple routine – cardio, abs, and various upper-body lifting to keep me strong enough to heave those tank rounds I adore so much. Oh, and prevent moobs. We cannot develop moobs…

So I think at this point it would be perfectly understandable if I took out my RantBox, stood on it, and complained about those dillweeds I endure in a gym setting that keep me from getting down to business. I call these folks Gym Clowns, and while they think they’re doing something productive, experienced gym rats know they merely clog the equipment for those of us who know what the fuck we’re doing.

Let’s review the roster of jackwagons I tolerate when sweaty and fragrant:

Mirror Lookers: Without fail, these are men, and while they look like they’re lifting, close analysis will show that they perform fewer than 20 reps of a weight under 30 pounds, all of which are bicep-related. This workout takes them at least two hours. The rest of the time they’re planted directly in front of the dumbbell rack – how ironic is that shit – gazing in the mirror at their lack of work in progress.

Hidden Agenda People: Either male or female, these fucktards show up showered, in immaculate ‘workout clothes’ and proceed to casually loaf from machine to machine without ever needing to do a courtesy wipe-off of the seat or bench. Why? Because they never break a sweat. The guys’ hair never gets messed, and the ladies come with makeup on. You figure it out. These folks would benefit more from MyFace or SpaceBook… or whatever that shit is.

Cardio Cockblocks: Again, these come in either gender and all sizes. The frustrating behavior exhibited is taking up a treadmill or elliptical machine and using it at a pace slower than glaciers creep. I like climbing aboard immediately adjacent to them and proceeding to fling my sweat all over them. But I hate when all the cardio machines are full and these snails are cockblocking my workout.

Chatty Kathi / Kenni: These douches (naturally spelled with a trailing ‘-i’) are so fucking popular that they can’t stop conversating long enough to remember why the hell they wandered into the building. Standing off to the side, they aren’t a problem. But when one sits on the next Hammer Strength you’re needing to hurt yourself on, exercising nothing more than their jaw, then they’re asking for said body part to be broken.

How these folks evade the plates I ‘accidentally’ drop, roll, and casually let slip from my grip in a full overhand pitch I will never know. I blame the burning fatigue I induce upon myself.