I walk into the bright synthetically lit room, rave electro and dance-pop blare from the speakers. I lope hunched over like Quasimodo, trying to go unnoticed as I dash to a treadmill at the back of the room. All the whiles I think in panic, never make eye contact.
Gyms are a necessary evil in the country I reside in, however I feel they are the uncomfortable and archaic rash of our generation. Worse than selfies are gym selfies. self-love and taking care of oneself is important, this I understand. Nevertheless, if I have to see another mouth breather take a picture of his sweaty abs, whilst shouting yaaasssss bru, I will hurl myself through the glass window. In my trauma I have decided to take stock of some of the different types of life guzzling narcissists, you find amongst you in your 30-45 minutes of upheaval.
The Jock Strap.
This is the general cookie cutter all purpose whey protein jock. He is very proud of his achievements and can hardly believe that anyone is lucky enough to feast upon his brawny manliness. His self-involvement is on such an extreme level that even scantily clad women go by unnoticed. Who needs love when you have muscles, know what I’m saying china. Jekyll and Hyde chocolate whey protein pudding!! #CHEATDAY
The Slightly less Jocky of Straps (who might think he’s hipster and worthy of your sexual arousal)
This individual is slighter lower on the bulk o metre but is still fairly ripped. He wears galaxy leggings and low slung vests. Head stands on yoga mats are necessary to flash his man pieces, in an attempt to ward off potential competitors from the Dewey’s (we will get to them later). He also knows one alternative band, as well as the name of one piece of semi-decent literature, or a sensitive anecdote, in order to temporarily stun his prey.
These are grouped gazelles with dewy doe eyes, who move in unison on the equipment or when lifting weights. They are long and lithe with their tiny boobs encased in spandex, giggles emit from their bodies whilst they are followed around by The Slightly less Jocky of Straps. The grunts and giggles continue like a sort of provocative mating dance. I fully expect a sexual crescendo of Dothraki like proportions to rain down at any moment. Avoid them at all costs!
This group of love-struck mid-40s housewives rule the gym scene. Skin reminiscent of a war wounded Shar Pei, they waltz in with DON’T CHA playing on repeat in their brains. They are here to prove they have lost nothing over the years and will astound, amaze and astonish with their youthful beauty. Personal trainers stand no chance against their tanned and musky charms. De-robing in the change rooms will take mere seconds before they boldly throw themselves upon their victim. Beware, young trainers, the force will not be with you at this time. It is out of order due to a sun bed burn.
Listen up here personal trainers, some people and yes I mean me, just come to the gym to not feel completely out of control. Yes, I might sometimes treat myself before I even get home from the gym. But lay off on the judgement! Laughing at my fourth press of the emergency stop button as well as tripping over my fallen earphones is downright mean. Back off the smitten mutton, it’s making you arrogant, and I think the whey protein is causing some brain damage.
All joking aside, I do admire the dedication of those fit and fabulous people. I, however, remain in camp doughnut. I think you can tell 😉
All illustrations by Ale Giorgini