Excited to mock the freaks at GhettoGym yet again, I got home from work, packed up my People magazine and headed over there. I made it all the through my cardio and that magazine and nary a freak appeared. It was almost as if my gym suddenly became normal, safe and clean overnight. The only people wandering around were trainers giving tours to all of the folks who got gym memberships for Christmas, a harmless and easily ignored bunch.
Mildly sweating and severely ugly, I headed upstairs to the jail-yard/weight room, nervous to find it over-flowing with meatheads.
I’m confident in the cardio area, where I’m working out with my fellow self conscious singles, mini-van moms and elderly men in slacks strolling along the treadmill. The jail yard is a different story altogether. Without Zoe, I know how to use about 5 machines by myself, and that’s what I stick to when I venture up there. Also, I’m very uncomfortable with people who grunt or moan when working out. I kind of want to turn to them and say, “Hey, pal. We get it. We’re all very impressed. Now please shut the fuck up. You’re grossing me out.” Then I look at their tree trunk sized neck and rethink my phrasing.
Anyway, the only machine available was this leg press where you have to lie on your stomach on this little arched bed, tuck your legs under this padded bar and curl it back. Quite possibly, the least flattering, most embarrassing machine in all of the jail yard, I sucked it up and maneuvered my way in.
Much resembling the first dead body in Silence of the Lambs, the girl with, you know, the missing back fat, I began to curl back the weights, praying for my reps end as soon as humanly possible. All of a suddenly, I hear, “And this is the leg area.”
A GhettoGym trainer had decided to give some schmuck a tour of the cow on the leg press.
I break my neck to look up and see a meathead in a GhettoGym polo and someone who can only be described as Uncle Leo from Seinfeld. Sadly, it was so wildly awkward to actually look anywhere but straight down into the little bed thing, I had to continue those damn curls with meathead polo and Uncle Leo critiquing me and my ass, not to mention, my technique. I felt like a beached whale. Apparently, meathead polo has no sense of ladylike decorum.
“Normally, you shouldn’t keep your feet together like that. Your legs should be shoulder width apart.”
Oh my god. He was talking about me. Uncle Leo may have snickered or made faces, but to his credit, didn’t say a word. The wandered off to the abs section, a section I am unfamiliar with, and I was left to wallow in my humiliation.
I went to GhettoGym in giddy anticipation of ghetto freaks and as life has made it clear to me over and over, it turns out the freak was me…