We go to the gym five days a week. It used to be six, but it got a bit much. Five seems a better fit for our current life. The gym is an interesting place. Not the gym in a general sense, but the specific gym we go to.
First of all, it’s a serious gym. People are there to work out so you don’t see people sitting at the equipment with their eyes glued to their phone or chatting away with someone for ten minutes in between doing a half-assed rep. I mean, you occasionally see that, but it’s rare.
Many of the “regulars” there are built. By that, I mean that both men and women sport serious muscles. They split into various groups. One group are people who are naturally big. There are two subgroups within that group . . . the ones who are big and “heavy” and the ones who are big and mostly muscle. The heavy are people who one might classify as overweight. I wouldn’t call them obese because while they sport obvious layers of fat, it’s evenly distributed atop impressive muscle groups. The others are big people who are very lean and what you see is primarily muscle.
The muscular women tend to be on the lean side as opposed to the heavy side. Some are bodybuilders. There are a lot of guys who are bodybuilders and they occasionally practice posing for upcoming shows, a trainer telling them how to adjust their poses. They are usually in their underwear. It’s interesting, but I have to try to not laugh or at least not make it obvious I’m laughing. That’s because they could easily rip me limb from limb should they take offense.
Another group is composed of “regular” size people who built a lot of muscle on a smaller skeletal frame than the big people. They may not be as tall or as large, but they are as serious about putting on muscle as the big guys and gals. To my eyes, they look . . . odd. Not ugly or gross or misshapen, but the proportions are a bit off. A few of them have the physiology to carry their muscles in a way that seems natural, but many seem as if they would have trouble performing tasks that involve a lot of flexibility. I mean, they are flexible in terms of the exercises they do, but muscles can only compress so far . . . think Ralphie’s brother dressed up for winter.
Not that I sit and think about it, but certain hygienic tasks would seem outside their reach. Then again, I’m not there when they shower or do . . . er . . . other business.
Side note: few people who use the gym shower there. I don’t know what’s up with that. The only thing I can think of is that they don’t sweat as much as I do. No way would I want to get in my car with my workout clothes as they are usually very hydrated.
The remainder comprises a group that’s more diverse. “Regular” people all of them but with various degrees of fitness. Some are remarkably strong but without carrying around as many muscle pounds. Some are lean and their strength is not measured by on much they can lift but on the fact that they can do 20+ chin-ups without breaking a sweat.
For them who are curious, being 65, I don’t go out to build a lot of muscle. That’s left-over from my racquetball days. I want endurance, flexibility, and enough muscle to handle the stuff I might be called upon to do, like lifting bags of groceries. That said, I carry a bit more muscle now than I did when I played racquetball.
My workout — depending on the day — involves a few floor exercises, some free weights, a range of machines, and rowing. Sometimes I swap bike riding for the rowing, but rowing gives me a better workout. Step climbing makes me sweat more, but it only works my legs. Thirty minutes of rowing nets me about 370 calories. I mean, that’s what the machine says, but who knows how accurate that is. Regardless, that’s about 70-80 calories more than using the bike or the stepper.
So, I mentioned showers are not used very much . . . however, the locker room sees a fair amount of traffic but it’s mostly people using the facilities and guys who spend a good portion of time looking at themselves in the mirror. There is a lot of looking in the mirror. I don’t know if the women do the same thing, but I assume so.
A lot of the people also come into the locker room to grab various supplements from their lockers and mix them with water. Different powders and stuff that have to do with whatever diet they are following to build muscles. Occasionally, when two of the people are in there at the same time, discussions might ensue as to the benefit of this or that supplement.
One other interesting thing with nearly all of the guys . . . the word “fuck” is incorporated into whatever they are discussing at the rate of roughly one every three to seven words. This is not done in anger, mind you, or even for emphasis, but rather as part of normal conversation. It’s like if they have a quota to fill and, by golly, they’re not going to come up short.
. . . it kind of makes me feel superior until I remember that it’s possible all these people suffer from Tourette syndrome.
And now, the photo:
I did this treatment in honor of the flowing lava that’s creating new land even as I write this. I couldn’t quite get the look I wanted but it’s close to what I intended.
I’m writing this a few days ahead of time and barring anything truly catastrophic having happened between now and the time this goes live, I’m probably still unaffected by the eruptions. I mean, we might have slightly more Vog, but it hasn’t been overly noticeable.
I do feel for the people going through the ordeal and especially suffering the uncertainty of where the lava might break through next.
As for today’s cartoon, I’ve often wondered what Romeo looked like (not!) and Mr. Boffo finally lets me know.
Weird that most people are probably familiar with the reference of Joliet . . . even without the representation of a jail cell. Were I more intrepid, I’d look up why the place is so entrenched in the lexicon. Perhaps they make really nice license plates.
Another GIF offering. I actually don’t have many left and might soon have to wield the Note 8’s stylus and create more. For now, Errant Paths Without Destinations.
And . . . that’s it
Some of these posts will likely be longer as the mood hits me, but most will be thus; short, uninteresting, bland, and relentless.
You can read about Project 313 HERE.
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. . . my FP ward . . . chieken shit.
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