Gymology

2006-08-29T16:32:00.000-07:00

Gymology

I never really cared about my body, much more about gyms. I had my first gym experience (and smell) one day. My aching body was lying on the carpet as I was watching Amelie for the nth time when I heard someone knocking on the window. I was so lazy to get up, so I remained inert and pretended to hear nothing. But the knocks got ominous as if the bastard outside would smash the window if I hadn’t responded. I came to the door, and to my surprise, it was a friend. He, without any formal salute or reaction for how tacky I looked in my pajamas, tried his best to convince me.

Magdala ka ng towel at sweats, mag-g-gym tayo.

WHAT?!

Nako, marami kang makikita ‘dong nakahubad lalo na sa shower room!

I replied with a giggle. Sa isip ko, oo nga naman. I would only have to pay $15 so I could feast my eyes on those muscular men showering and washing their genitals. No, no, no, no. I’m gonna be working out. But for $15? No way. Pero libre naman daw. My other friend is a member so he can get me in. Later on, I learned that it’s $31 monthly for members (excluding $100 membership fee) and $15 a day for non-members. Ah, the perks of having friends. Nyahaha.

I rushed to the bathroom to get some “gym necessities.” Clueless of what to bring, I packed my backpack with everything I thought I needed. A towel. A liter of water. A toothbrush. Toothpaste. Soap. Shampoo. Cologne. Sweats. Extra shirts. Extra undies. Extra pounds.

While I was in the car, my friends were raving about the advantage they get from going to the gym. One of them said, Tingnan mo, may “boobs” na ‘ko. (Maganda na chest ko.) We laughed hysterically.

Sabagay. May point naman sila. Sa totoo lang, takot akong tumingin sa salamin nang hubo’t hubad.

We then arrived at the gym. By the moment I stepped in, I felt I was already in a new domain. The air was quite warm and humid and the smell is… let’s just say it’s like suffocating yourself with your brother’s shirt that he wore for basketball practice. Paranoia started to sink in as I walked further inside; I felt like everyone was staring at me as if I’m dinner ready to be eaten. I’m blaming it on my ugly plaid shorts.

Heedless of what others think, I got on the strider and began to warm up. I love that machine. It has an electronic indicator that displays how much calories I had been burning by the minute. As I was doing that, I looked around and observed others. I can sense their motivation just by looking at their faces. Some of them were exercising so hard; it seemed to me that working out is their outlet for stress. Through unobtrusive inspection, I somehow felt secure that I wasn’t the only one with an ugly body. Also, I realized that gym-goers can be classified into several groups.

Exhibit A. The Gym Virgins. Those who have no idea how the equipments work and pass out after three sit-ups. I apparently fall under this category.

Exhibit B. The Chubbies. The most motivated bunch. They inspire me, really.

Exhibit C. The Hotties. Self-explanatory.

Exhibit D. The Giant Sequoias. The well-chiseled, übermuscular men who can’t seem to get enough of body-building. Allow them to stand barefoot on fertile soil and roots will soon grow from their toes and leaves will begin replacing cephalic hair.

Exhibit E. The Valley Girls. These are female species with ages ranging from late teens to early twenties. Their exercises involve conversing loudly, gossiping, and reiterating cliché words such as: hot, cool, like, totally, whatever, hella etc.

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I did not spend much time gawking at attractive strangers fearing that I might get bruises instead of phone numbers. Rather, I tried my best to stay away from crowded areas to minimize the chance of being seen by people I know. I’m no celebrity, but I want to remain anonymous as much as possible --- especially in the gym. Although there is no danger of paparazzi harassment, I fear familiar people who might catch me struggling with gym apparatuses. I don’t want them to know that I’m working out. I don’t want them to know that I’m getting fat or gaining pounds. Unfortunately, an annoying classmate from Microbiology class saw me in action. I pretended to see and hear nothing. The bitch was so desperate for attention, so she decided to approach me.

Hey, what did you get for Bonnie’s class?

A “B.”

Good for you, I got a “B” too.

I did not reply; a nonverbal gesture told her to scram. Good thing she did, otherwise I could’ve used my telepathic power to order the brawny fellow beside me to pulverize her.

Although I looked stupid while operating the machines, I managed to sweat off and burn evil calories. Each push was for every chicken fry, each pull was for every burger, and each stride was for every slice of cheesecake. I abhorred crunches, but I told myself, if continue doing this regularly, I’d eventually see pan de sal on my abdominopelvic region instead of, ugh, tsunami. I was sore, but I was happy.

I’m not going to promote the gym or exercising regularly. You already know the wonders it does to your body. Masdan mo likuran ni Beyoncé, o ang abdominal muscles ni Markus Schenkenberg. O di kaya si Pluto, tingnan mo, aso na siya ngayon.

Me llamo Marco.

Gymology