Dear Fellow Gym Members;
I would like to offer my sincere apologies for several instances that have occurred while I have frequented the establishment. I feel it best to list them in their entirety and bring them to light so we may find a way to deal with them and move forward.
To start, I'm sorry Mr. Front Desk Guy that I do not mirror your jolliness the microsecond that front door cracks open and I saunter in. I apologize I am thrown off when you scan my membership card, then greet me loudly with familiarity, by addressing me by my first name when we have never been properly introduced. On a side note, I would like to know what it is you eat for breakfast that makes you seem as though it was a large container of crack. Where may I purchase a box of that? Why do you believe that entering the gym is such an exciting venture that I must be hailed as if I were entering the gates of Heaven? Also, if I happen to leave earlier than what you deem appropriate please also understand that it may be something out of my control. Like for example, my work out partner (and husband) noticed a sour putrid smell wafting from him and continued to sniff the air, his shirt and his armpits in an attempt to locate the offensive odor. Only to realize halfway into the workout the shorts he was wearing happen to have been used as a litterbox by a wayward feline. Our condolences for not explaining this in great extensive detail to you.
To you, naked elderly woman in the dressing room hopping on one foot attempting to guide your left foot in your underpants while completely ignorant to your rather bouncy saggy bits. I'm sorry I came around the corner too swiftly and did not anticipate your nakedness in the open isle way space where most walk. I'm very sorry that I have never been able to disguise my facial expressions well, and my look of shock was clearly conveyed. The eye contact was accidental. Trust me.
I understand, next-door treadmill neighbor, that at the end of mile one I am breathing rather loudly. In fact admittedly, there have been spittles of drool showering neighbor in front of me, however there is really no need to stare. I do apologize from distracting you from your 0 incline 2.5 speed stroll to gaze inquisitively at me and quietly murmur to your friend to the other side your concern. I'm sorry you may not agree with my methods, but you see, this is what it looks like when someone is actually trying to work up a sweat and get her heart rate above 130 for longer than 5 minutes. At times a wayward gas bubble may pass, or a slight misstep on the treadmill may have me floundering and winding my arms like windmills to catch myself. Just ignore me.
I am not one to "dress up" to hit the gym. Were I to wear a full arsenal of makeup, halfway through my cardio regime my eyeballs would be burning at the mascara and liner seeping into my eyes. Imagine me attempting to wipe all traces off while still managing to keep my stride. If I am so absurd as to wear waterproof mascara you will have to understand it is entirely accidental that I have flown off the treadmill into an innocent patron passing by as I am no longer able to keep my lids in the "open" position. I have learned that hairspray is also a bad idea due to the consistancy it transforms to once a large volume of sweat intermingles with it. This sticky substance is found dripping down the sides of my face, all over the belt of the treadmill as well as any other gym participant within a 5 yard radious. All a small price to pay for fitness and tight muscles. In addition, my 7 different pairs of Magnum PI shorts are not the most attractive and admittedly they weren't this short when I bought them 15 pounds ago. However, I refuse to buy bigger clothes when I have every intention of comfortably fitting into these small ones again. I agree with you though, it is unfortunate that that day isn't today. Undoubtedly you would like an explanation about my crazy side-positioned JEM, 1986 ponytail, and I have to tell you to please refer to paragraph three for that misplaced hair-do. I was in an enormous hurry to exit the locker room.
I do offer my condolences to the girl texting and chatting on her cell while "exercising" on the elliptical trainer. I didn't mean to burst out in hysterical laughter at your absurd be-dazzled trucker hat perched atop your half blonde half black Cruella de Ville hair that Ashton Kutcher would have been proud to wear. Throughout the long stream of mindless chatter, not once did you put your phone down or inhale which made me marvel at your dexterity and lung capacity. Especially with those incredible acrylic fingernails. Perhaps I was burning calories next to some disguised celebrity or important dignitary, or an assistant of some major sports star that insisted she always have her phone handy. What other possible reason would any normal person have for clinging to their phone with such desperation?
To you middle aged overweight lady, I do apologize that I would like to change the channel on one of the 5 out of 10 televisions blaring Rachel Ray. I appreciate her culinary skills as well as her peppy chipmunk grin, and quirky interviewing capabilities. Problem is, the remaining televisions are either on a Spanish Telenova, Nancy Grace, a baseball game, the Lifetime Channel, or Law and Order. I am not able to stomach any of those programs and all I'm asking is one of the images of Rachel be turned to a rerun of Real Housewives. Filthy rich, indulgent, backstabbing women who claim to be friends who have no social skills nor any idea how to behave, makes for some intriguing entertainment. So fascinating in fact, that before you know it your exercise regimen is completed, all before Kelly has a mental breakdown over an inaccurately mixed drink. It's not as if you'll be simultaneously viewing all 5 TVs anyway, and certainly not longer than the 14 minutes before you expire and decide that was enough panting for this week. So please don't glare at me with such menacing derision as if I've fingered you in a police line-up as I slowly aim the remote at the television set.
Finally, to the Brock Lesner wannabee with the insanely large free weights you've chosen for curling. Forgive me for rolling my eyes at what can only be called your Lamaze-like hissing, while distending your over-inflated biceps in 8 reps of 45. This bizarre ceremony is then followed by the weight being flung to the ground in the grand finale of vigorously shaking your arms and furiously rolling your neck while grunting to an unsuspecting passerby. If it's that big of a production perhaps (and I'm only guessing here) you're lifting too much and should decrease the 75 pounds that is giving you the hernia. I apologize for being unimpressed with your large weight capacity, but if you'd let me explain myself it's merely because I myself lift those weights to put them away once you've wandered off. One can only assume you're finished at that point, as you are quick to repeat the previous performance on a different machine, too lazy to pick up after yourself where I soon find myself tripping, tangling my feet within the handles.
Now that we've identified my infractions, as I've stated before we should now move on and understand we are all here to work out and we can do this together in harmony. My attempts at functioning in a less annoying manner will improve, and in the meantime all I ask of you is to extend the slightest patience to me.
Sincerely,
Amanda Bolen
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