Monday, April 8, 2013

Worked Up

I'm definitely not one of those people who likes to talk about going to the gym. "I'm going to the gym" is the verbal equivalent of the tofu. No one wants to hear about it because it's a very boring topic. (Hear that, gym rats?) So, this is not a story about me going to the gym. However, it DID happen at the gym, so I may as well get it out of the way by saying I was at the gym on purpose.

Oh, also? You guys need to know that I'm a very angry person when walk into the Y. I'm all "Don't talk to me. I hate being here. Let's get this god-forsaken chore over with. Seriously. Everyone else is annoying here." I want to get in and get out with absolutely no hassle.

This is why it's pretty great that I happen to work out at a gym that is like 80 paces away from a retirement community. Everyone there during the day is like 80. They mind their own business, don't try to show me up by sprinting on the treadmill, and didn't steal my water bottle when I left it on the treadmill overnight. I like them. They couldn't care less about me. It works.

So anyway, today there I was, anger-sweating my way through another tedious workout. I got to the part where I hole up in a corner of the workout room to pretend to do abs, but really just kind of roll around on those giant balls. I had my ear buds in, and I was listening to some of the fantastically explicit rap that is the only reason I get through a workout. I was halfway through one of the raunchiest songs I downloaded while hiding under my bed, fearful that my parents would somehow show up and ground me. I was really into it, shaking my way through a plank when someone tapped me on my shoulder.

I lifted my head and collapsed on the floor to see who had the nerve to approach Angry Pharon at the gym. Surely, I thought, it would be some jerkface with a creepy loose tank top who wanted to tell me that my form was wrong or some nonsense. Instead, I saw this very lovely, older gentleman with a big smile. I smiled back and pressed pause on my music. I pulled out an earbud and asked "Yes?"

He said "That's some loud music you got there."

I almost slipped into my adolescent rebellious phase and snapped "SO WHAT?!" But instead I said "Uh, maybe. Sorry."

He said "Seems to really get you pumped up though! What is it?"

Could I explain to this sweet man that my ears were being pounded with enough f-bombs, racial slurs and sexual innuendo to make his mustache fall off? The name of the song itself has a word in it that I won't even say when I'm singing along by myself in the car.

Instead, I said "Oh, I don't know. It's just on the radio." Crap. Does he know that I don't have radio on my phone? I kept fumbling, "Um, I mean. I don't know the name of the song. Just a lot of noise, I guess. Haha." He looked a little deflated and said "Well, have fun!"

I felt pretty bad about lying to the guy, but I knew I'd feel worse if I had told him the truth. But then I decided that I was angry that he made me lie, so I left the gym feeling as angry as when I'd walked in, so it all came full circle.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Only correct response: It's Britney, b*tch.