Meatheads

OK, so I’ve been going to the gym regularly now for three weeks. So far so good. I’ve dropped a few more pounds and generally feel pretty darn accomplished over it. But there is one big problem for me.

Meatheads. (With apologies to Rob Reiner.)

You know who I’m talking about. The musclebound Neanderthals that dominate the free weight section of the gym. No necks. Huge, bulky arms the size of small economies. Stiff movements. All around uncomfortable looking people. You can hear their bulging muscles creak when they walk. Their arms stick out from their body at bizarre angles because of their enormous, overdeveloped chest and back muscles. Grunt is their native tongue..

Yesterday one particular meathead was all decked out in appropriate workout gear. Acid washed jeans. I kid you not. He was also salivating behind me as I worked on the triceps machine just waiting to triple the amount of weight and prove himself to the vast number of nobodys watching.

What is with these guys? Who desires to look like that? And where do these guys go when they’re not at the gym? I don’t recall running into any of them at the grocery store or Powell’s or the corner pub. They must have some commune where they all park their conversion vans on the grassy patch beside the gravel part of the dirt road.

Seriously.

I have a hard enough time being absurdly weak, trying to lift weights (which I hate) to build some semblance of long, lean muscle and I have to do it surrounded by an endless supply of meatheads.

Oh well. The locker room is very nicely appointed. So I’ve got that going for me. Which is nice.

B!