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I like going to the gym. It’s the people in it I can’t stand.
Actually, most of them don’t bother me. They go in. They do their workout. They go home. If
someone’s a regular, I might say: “Hi,” or “You’re looking fit,” or
“Can I see that sweat-stained, three-month-old copy of Plumbers Weekly magazine you
left on the stair stepper?”
But a few gym-goers drive me crazy. Some are annoying. Some are inconsiderate. Some are downright
odd. At first I thought it was just my local gym. But over the years I’ve come across people
like them in every spa, weight room, or athletic club I’ve ever been to. Luckily they fall
into distinct categories, so with practice you can recognize and steer clear of them.
The Clanger. This guy (it’s always a guy) likes to end his set by letting the weights
slam down as loudly as possible. This has the effect of startling you into dropping that 10-pound
barbell on your foot; and rendering you temporarily deaf (not necessarily a bad thing at my gym,
where the radio is permanently tuned to KRUD, the all-Britney Spears station). There are two
sub-species of the Clanger. One wears headphones turned up so loud—always to Metallica—that he doesn’t know he’s slamming his weights. The other breed of Clanger does it intentionally so everyone knows what a macho guy he is for lifting such a huge weight.
The Hog. You walk into the gym on a busy evening. A guy’s on the shoulder machine, so
you head for the leg press. It’s empty, but there’re 11 jillion pounds on the
bar—somebody must be using it. You turn to the bench press. Nobody there, but someone’s
towel is on the bench. You wait. Minutes tick by. The radio segues from one Britney Spears song to
another (at least the DJ claims they’re two distinct tunes). No one comes over. You
reach down to remove the towel. The shoulder-press guy sprints over, shouting, “I’m on
that machine.” He starts his set and you head over to the still-empty leg press, hoping you
can remove 6 or 7 of those 45-pound plates without rupturing yourself. But before you can say
“hernia,” bench-press guy elbows past you and says, “I’ve only got one more
set here.” Oh, you say—to yourself, since he’s built like a refrigerator—this
joker is taking up three machines at once. “I’m doing super sets,” he explains.
Super set this, pal.
The Dripper. Nothing gets me more excited about working out than marching over to the exercycle, putting my water bottle in the holder, placing my newspaper in the reading rack, draping my towel on the handlebar...and looking down to see a two-inch-deep pool of sweat on the seat. Like Zorro, the Dripper has left her mark for all to see. My gym has about 38 signs posted on the
walls—“Please Wipe Equipment After Use” and “Members Must Use a Towel”—but the Dripper is too busy emanating bodily fluids to notice. For good measure, she usually concludes her workout by coughing all over the cycle’s computer console.
The Chatter. Travels in pairs. Similar to the Hog, but in some ways even more infuriating.
This person lounges on a piece of equipment, talking to a fellow Chatter about the stock market,
last night’s big game, the unbelievable thing their boy- or girlfriend did or did not do,
blah-blah-blah. When you politely inquire if they’re using the equipment to exercise anything
more than their jaw muscles, they get huffy and say, “We only have two more sets.” Then
they resume chatting.
The Poser. More entertaining than aggravating, the Poser has all the gear: weight belt,
water bottle, personal stereo, wrist and knee wraps, sweatband, Gold’s Gym muscle shirt. He
approaches a machine. He looks in the mirror, tightens his belt, looks in the mirror, fusses with
his wraps, looks in the mirror, takes a couple of loud breaths, looks in the mirror, shakes his
head and screws up his face. Then he does two reps.
The Hummer. It’s not enough for this person to do his workout in silence. He has to
serenade the rest of us by humming an annoying tune like “Michael rowed the boat
ashore”—and always off-key. Soon, like it or not, everyone else in the gym is mentally
rowing that freakin’ boat ashore. Variations include: the Singer, who’s equally
exasperating but mostly harmless; and the Mutterer, whose mumbled monologues about spaceships and
the Trilateral Commission always help me focus on getting my workout over with
quickly.
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