I LOVE THE GYM

I hate the gym.

I've been going to the gym about thrice-a-week for the past yearish and it's gotten to the point where I honestly feel I should be getting PAID for the time I'm putting in.  Not that I'm not seeing any results...the fruits of my labor, while smaller fruits than the fruits I'd prefer, are indeed present.  On the whole, I'm extremely self-motivated, proactive, and perseverant.  However, as health and fitness go, my nature is that of one who wants instant gratification without having to exert any actual effort.  I'm like a bizarre combination of Oprah and Vince Vaughn.  (I know...if you only had a nickel for every time someone uttered that very same statement...).  Regardless, I bust my hump out there day after day in the seemingly-futile hope that one day...ONE DAY...I will emerge from the deep with 3% body fat and abs that look like a Klingon is trying to press their forehead through my abdomen.

As in most gyms, one often finds themselves in the situation of wanting to use a particular piece of workout equipment when a fellow gym-goer is not yet done using it.  For some, this is the end of the story, figuring the user will be using said equipment for a while longer, so might as well move on...MAYbe come back to it later.  For others, such as myself, this situation prompts another common occurrence:

The Bruh Scenario

Gym Guy 1: **walks over, attempts to attract attention with a sudden, swift head elevation-eyebrow raise combo move**

Gym Guy 2: **opens eyes wide, takes out one earbud signaling that conversation may commence**

Gym Guy 1: "How many sets ya got left, bruh?"

Gym Guy 2: **momentarily looks up and off into the distance counting, in his head, the two sets he has left** "Uh..2 sets.  You can work in if you want."

Gym Guy 1: **raises open-palmed hand waist-level in polite declination** "Nah, take your time, bruh."

The Bruh Scenario.  Happens to me at least once a gym session.  Most of the guys who work out the same time as I do are relatively friendly, as far as gym folk go.  We have our little Bruh-moment, smile, and part ways.  However, there's one regular at my sorry-excuse-for-an-apartment-complex-gym that isn't usually particularly pleasant to talk to...in fact, he's downright gruff.  Physically, he fits the bill quite well: ~6'5", ~250, bald with a permascowl...basically a slightly slimmer version of Simon Adebisi from everyone's favorite prison love fest, Oz.  Normally when I ask him how much longer he'll be using a given piece of equipment, his usual response consists of something between a nostril-flaring grunt and an ocularly-delivered death threat.  I've come to accept this as the norm and we've existed rather happily in that state for quite some time.

Until a few days ago.  I was at the gym, finishing up with a particularly Arnoldesque workout, when in walked Big Snarly.  He lumbered toward the free weights were I was rounding off my last two sets and, with an ever-furrowed brow, began scanning the landscape...perhaps deciding where to begin, perhaps hunting for prey, who knows.  I continued my last set of one-arm dumbbell snatches, reveling in being nearly done with yet another 4-bucket workout (buckets of sweat, mind you.  It's a "1 to 4" rating system for workout intensity.  I'm pretty sure the International Weightlifting Federation has plans to adopt it next year.).  Just as I finished my last rep and lay the dumbbell on the ground, sweating worse than Tony Hayward at a congressional hearing, I looked up to see The Beast himself turn his head and look back at me.  His gaze pierced deep into my soul.  My muscles tensed.  He straightened his body to full looming height, slowly opened his mouth, flashing an unexpected, uncharacteristic smirk that was probably the closest thing I would ever see to him smiling, and said in his low, African-accented baritone:

"I see you ah getting biggah."

....
........
(Sweet lord...did he just...just...TALK to me?)

"Oh yeah?" I cautiously responded, "Really?"

And with a final half-smile and nod, signifying that he was done talking and I could continue breathing, he walked off.  I stood there for a minute, head cocked to the left and eyebrows raised in wonderment of the events that had just unfolded.  And then, as I came back to reality and grabbed my towel off the barbell rack, I walked back to my gym bag thinking about what he said, and had myself a little satisfied grin.

I love the gym.