For The Brave Souls With Long Attention Spans (or with nothing to do)

I seem to have the workout thing down. I enthusiastically hop out of bed every morning at 5:45-ish. I try really hard to be at the gym and working out by 6:30 so I can get in a full work out and feel like all the sweat was worth something. Still working on escaping chocolate cravings. I'm a girl and I have lots of chocolate-loving girlfriends, so it's been an uphill climb that isn't going so well. Meh. Ya win some, ya lose some, right?

I saw several document-worthy events as I battled the ArcTrainer. (I'm convinced these were early-Nazi torture tools) And even more as I moved on to the circuit and tried to push myself through 25 gruelling pounds on the weight machines (don't make fun. I'm a little wimpy). For some reason, the following made me giggle:

There is a guy who I see there on almost a daily basis. A somewhat-rounded twenty-something of Hispanic background, he is often accompanied by his two friends whom I can only assume are family members or caring (and relatively fit) friends who drag him out of bed every morning. He is one who seems to be under the impression that mere gym attendance-not vigorous use of the equipment itself-is all one needs in the quest for a "healthier you". (By the way, I have no intention of seeming judgemental here, as I believe anyone who has the motivation to get up and work out is praiseworthy. However, his level of dedication to the rigors of a morning workout are pertinent to this story...) I usually see him on the treadmill for several minutes following a jaunt around the track once or twice. He occasionally vests temporary interest in the weight machines.

I was trying to push through the remaining half of the circuit when I saw him in the weights area. Making sure he was in clear view of a perky, obviously-dedicated, young gym attendee (who happened to be female), this stalwart champion bravely strode up to the free weights and took a deep breath in preparation. (I will note here that the weights are set up so that the heaviest are on the bottom, the lightest at the top.) Looking over his options, he courageously grabbed hold of the second set from the top.

Keeping his eye on the conquest he was hoping to impress, he began lifting in quick succession. Sweat forming on his brow, I counted as he lifted each set to his chest as quickly as he could, eyes squeezed shut in concentration; ...four, five, si-...Five! Exhaling, he took a breath between reps before beginning again, this time making nearly seven reps with the eight-pound load...

Now for those who have lost interest and skimmed the above (those who haven't, I commend you. I'm frequently very wordy...), you can read this part. The following is what made me laugh.

Just before his second set of almost-seven was over, an older gentleman came over to scrutinize his free weight options. He had to have been almost sixty-five or older with thinning grey hair and an even thinner physique. He was dressed in a white wife-beater and gym shorts (black socks included and sweat band firmly in place on his forehead). With a swiftness and grace that can only be compared with sunflowers blowing in the ease of the spring winds, the older man stepped in front of my Hispanic subject, snatched the very lowest set of free weights, and easily walked away.

I can only imagine my subject's embarrassment as he noticed the slight chuckling of the girl he once sought out to impress. If I didn't know he was Mexican-ish, I would have thought he was a cherry.