If my nutritional intake were up for review, I’d probably get about a B+. I eat pretty healthy during the week, take a good multi-vitamin, and, yes, occasionally deep-fry something or other. I guess I’d score a little better on exercising. I’m not athletic by any means, but I really enjoy getting on my bike or hitting the gym 3 or 4 days a week. Now, although I do enjoy the gym, I’ve discovered a few ways to make the time pass a little quicker. If I grow weary of watching the Food network (so I can remind myself why I’m there) or listening to the mediocre rock station that some other guy has turned up way too loud –- then I turn my attention to my fellow worker-outers for entertainment. And being the student-of-life that I am, I can’t help but find some things about the gym clientele rather amusing. Of course, when it comes to finding humorous observations in a Texas gym, one doesn’t need to be a creative genius. You just sort of look around and write down what you see.
Over the years in my Texas gym, I’ve assembled in my vast mind (remember, vast means empty) a cast of characters, if you will. I like to give them nicknames, because getting a nickname is actually a form of flattery. (At least, that’s what I told myself in junior high, when I had the honor of being called “Short Friar Dyer”). Many of the characters are actually an amalgam of several individuals -– for if I were to list them all, my little play would have more bad cameos than a season of American Dreams.
(And. . . scene.)
First to enter the stage is “Grimace”. I call him Grimace not because he favors the purple, gelatinous creature from Ronald McDonald-land -– but because every time Grimace lifts something heavier than a thimble, he gets a contorted, painful look on his face that would make Jim Carrey seem stoic. I’m not referring to a “normal” facial gesture – like when you’re opening a jar of peanut butter. I’m referring to an other-worldly feat of facial gymnastics, as if one were lifting a peanut butter factory. I thought having nightmares about scary clowns was bad -– but Grimace takes the heebie-jeebies to a whole new level.
Grimace is soon upstaged by “Mirror Guy”. Now honestly, what male hasn’t glanced at the gym mirror, just to make sure that everything is flexed properly? However, during the course of a workout session, Mirror Guy seldom looks away from the looking glass. I can almost hear his inner dialog: “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who has the fairest biceps (and mullet) of them all?” I think the reason Dracula never exercised was because he couldn’t see his reflection.
While Mirror Guy is seeing how swollen he’s become, my attention is diverted by “Sonar, Keeper of the Grunt.” From the deep, dark recesses of the leg press machine comes the guttural groaning of Sonar, a man who needs such validation from the brotherhood of the gym -- that he must make his lifting known with a long, low utterance articulated somewhere between his throat and his gym socks. Imagine the grunt of a pot-bellied uncle sitting down in a recliner –- and multiply it by 20 reps.
Every good play needs a main character -– and the lead part in my muscled melodrama goes to “Likeable but Egotistical Dude.” I say he’s the main character because, if given a chance, he would bestow the honor upon himself. Perhaps he’s not really God’s gift to the gym, but it’s not for lack of trying. Bald by choice, “Likeable but Egotistical Dude” actually wears a sleeveless tee that reads With a body like this, who needs hair? He often looks around and surveys the gym, like a lion perusing his domain. However, part of his moniker is “likeable” because he is very fun to watch and frankly, I find his goatee delightfully sassy!
I could go on, but there are too many supporting roles to mention in detail. There are the “Meal-Skippers” (who work out on their lunch break and wear dress slacks with running shoes), the “Town Criers” (who get on consecutive treadmills with the sole purpose of catching up on the latest small-town gossip), and then there are the “Body Builders” (and I’m not even gonna go there, because one of them might read this, etc.).
And lest I forget, there’s me. I have a very small but regular walk-on part, “Social Boy with Overactive Sweat Glands”. It usually takes this character about 10 minutes to soak through his latest piece of fashionable gym wardrobe, comprised of T-shirts leftover from college and shorts from the sale bin at Wal-Mart. “Social Boy” wants to work out and be done in an hour, but finds himself ever-distracted by superfluous conversations taking place all around him -- of which he participates in each and every one. Oh yeah, and you might catch this guy unknowingly sitting backwards on a weight-training apparatus, even though each machine clearly has a picture of a faceless man showing how to correctly use it.
Like every good story, our characters all have their strengths and flaws. But, hey, at least they’re at the gym in the first place, which is more than you can say for 60% of Americans. We’ve “biggie-sized” ourselves right out of our britches:-)
Anyway, I’ve gotta go. I’ve got a performance at the gym -– curtain goes up in 30 minutes. But first, I feel a donut run coming on. . . you know, just to help me get into character.
You know you’re a “late-70’s/early-80’s cultural minutiae junkie” if you know what these words and phrases are referring to. The answers will be revealed in a couple of days, but feel free to post comments with your best guesses to any or all of them. 
