Why do we go to the gym? Is it culture? Addiction? Optimism? Social networking? Exercise? Punishment? Rewards? Or just because it is what we have always done? Maybe we just wanna get skinny. Some things never change.
I went to “The Gym” the other morning (and after the Conehead-like consumption of mass quantities over the past 24 hours I am sure I am going to need to find myself there again soon…) and was struck by the total familiarity of the uniformity of the suburban exercise mega-facility. As T and I pulled into Club One, I swear I could have been rounding the corner to the Double Diamond Fitness in south Reno. The look, orientation, planning and design of the whole place was identical. It gave me a little shiver. I got out of the car and was relieved to smell Petaluma rather than Reno and was consequently able to make a move towards the building.
Once inside I was greeted with that smell that every fitness center has, really, they must be able to buy that shit in a spray like “New Car Smell” or something: clean, urban industrial, carpety, rubbery, mechanical goodness with an overlay of that fruity liquid soap. It is an indelible scent. T and I headed upstairs where she was about to embark on a class that I was confident I would not enjoy, and so onto the old familiar elliptical I hopped. Every machine in the gym is now outfitted with ‘personal entertainment systems.’ You can watch any cable television show you want (sadly, I am too unfamiliar with the options to make that interesting) or “watch” all the music you want. Anything to take one’s mind off the task at hand I guess. Pretty much the exact opposite of the underlying principles of the yoga practice I have been developing for the last year or so. But, hey – When In Rome…
As I worked out how to actually get the machine to function and movement commenced I could hear Chrissy Hind belting out lyrics that could only be described as prophetic in this one moment. Sraight made T and I, high school teammates and training-mates and general fitness neuroses-mates, look right at each other and laugh:
…To a place in the past
We’ve been cast out of? Oh oh oh oh
Now we’re back in the fight
We’re back in the train
Oh, back on the chain gangA circumstance beyond our control, oh oh oh oh
The phone, the TV and the news of the world
Got in the house like a pigeon from Hell, oh oh oh oh
Threw sand in our eyes and descended like flies
Put us back on the train
Oh, back on the chain gang…
I started to pick up the pace and remembered why it was that I like the gym; there is something inherently satisfying in making yourself produce that much sweat – seriously. I hope this doesn’t make me some sort of sicko, but I find it incredibly motivating. As I really started to get going I got fancy and turned on my personal entertainment system. It was set to a music channel. There was Mick in his tight purple and lavender shirt with those sweet white sweat pants. Glad for the “personal” element of the entertainment system – I cranked it up and cracked up.
I think music may be second only to smells for memory activation. And on this day when two friends I have known since 1984 were celebrating the big 4-0 I couldn’t help giving my head a little shake. 40th birthday parties. Who would have thought it? I looked around me and saw a variety of people and noticed that there seemed to be a lot of people in my proximity suddenly. I figured I should probably tone down the Lulz. I tried to focus on Mick. Not too helpful for a laugh remedy. I started to think about how I was heading to The City for the birthday of another friend’s 40th that evening (when it rains it pours.) We were going to hit the town big. Looking at the monitor in front of me as I passed minute 18 I saw this:
The universe had to be having a giggle.
The guy next to me nodded hello. I did not know this man, but nodded back. A few minutes later another guy offered me a towel. I already had a towel draped conspicuously over the elliptical trainer. Okay, thanks… maybe I was that sweaty. I looked around and began to watch the insanely fit girl in front of me maintain a psychotic pace on the treadmill. She was like a machine on autopilot – and totally fixated on her personal entertainment system, which she had set on the food network to some program like The Ace of Cakes or Cupcake Wars or Sugar Rush or some such thing. The duality was intriguing. The more intense the cakes and the sauces and the cookies got the harder she ran. I wondered what her food issues might be. [Not really.] But she was definitely in it to win it. By minute 27 I was starting to get a little bored. I looked down at my P.E.S. to this I swear I could not make this stuff up:
It was definitely time to switch things up. Plus this part of the gym seemed to be getting a little leery. It is funny because by no stretch of the imagination was I the most interesting person there, but you would have thought I was. In the same way that departure served as the most flattering light on the far East side of the Pacific, so it seemed that eau d’New Girl was a bit more interesting out here. Ah, small towns.
I stretched. I lifted some shit. I sat up. I pushed up. I sweated some more. I was ready for a night prowling The City with several others of my distinctly unique 1970 vintage, and felt totally sure I would be back in the gym as soon as I could. All of a sudden Karma Chameleon began to blast out of the sound system.
Some things never change while they never remain the same.
Cool.
Amanda
No, THIS is how you do it... 