Georgie De Mattos/Mustang News

Daniel Park is a journalism senior. The views expressed in this article do not necessarily reflect the viewpoints and editorial coverage of Mustang News. 

I’m sure most people have experienced the joys of the gym as I have. The glistening sweat as the beads roll down supple breasts. The gorgeous movement of beautiful asses as they undulate. And the women aren’t bad either.

Of course, the gym is a wonderful opportunity for me to show how much I don’t exercise. Every time I go to the gym, I climb up onto the elliptical and change the television to my favorite show — “Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.” I’ve learned quickly to change the channel to ESPN whenever someone walks by, but deep down I know I can wear that dress better. I will go to the dinner party, damn it.

Perhaps what I’m most scared of at the gym is the overly enthusiastic spin instructors hell-bent on ensuring your time there is spent in fear that they’ll notice you. There you are, pumping your legs as fast as possible, and the spin instructor invariably named Sarah or Laura yells at you, “Keep it up!” Keep what up? Is my erection showing? Oh, God. My dreams are finally coming true.

Their demeanor is quite interesting. How can anyone be so cheerful, whether forced or natural?

I’m not complaining about them. In fact, I’m grateful for them. If it weren’t for the overly enthusiastic spin instructors, the only exercise I’d be doing is sticking my tongue out violently to naughtyvegetables.com. God, I’ve never been more turned on by bell peppers in my life. That’s why any time I see any vegetables, I go crazy. No wonder I’m barred from Whole Foods.

What I do hate are the stupid turnstiles at the entrance of the gym. I have to try at least twice before it lets me through to the Promised Land. Kind of like women. Of course, turnstiles and women are very different. One says you need to try again when you fail to press the right buttons, and the other is a turnstile.

Not only that, but the men’s locker rooms are something to fear. The older men especially. There I am, sitting on the wooden benches, trying desperately to untie my sneakers, when I see a man in his late 120s, his raisin-like body dragging his scrotum across the tile floor. I say scrotum because I assume that’s what it is. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it was a skinned cat or a worn out sack of potatoes.

There is absolutely no shame in the locker room at all. It would be nice if people covered up more often, but I realize that that isn’t going to happen any time soon. Maybe the gym should provide complimentary speedos that must be worn at all times. Yes, the locker rooms now look like a beach in Europe. That can change, hopefully.

And if I’m on the topic of improving the gym, I might as well continue with another suggestion — how about putting a McDonald’s restaurant in there somewhere? I know that this alone would bring more people to the gym. Yes, critics may argue putting in a fast food restaurant at the gym seems at best counterintuitive. And I would argue absolutely nothing, because they are correct, but I would enjoy it.

Of course, the gym is only one of many blessings I have so far. I’m especially thankful for the small things in life. And I’m thankful for many of the things that I get to complain about and do absolutely nothing to solve. But I’ll save that for another article.

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