Day Dreaming at the Gym: Betcha Don't Know What I'm Thinking

Ah, the gym.

My home away from home of late.

The camaraderie and smiles of recognition of becoming a regular.

The achievement of becoming part of a community.


A family.

And just like family members?

Freaking annoying.

Case in point, a sweaty, graying lady that seems magnetized to every part of the gym I populate. Let's call her Cantankerous Nana.

Nana never wipes down her machine. She refuses to circle swim while taking up entire lanes swimming like a geriatric turtle. She spends maybe 5 minutes on each machine, but you'd think it was a marathon with her grunting.

Kudos for her for trying yes? Well....

Last week, I sat next to her at stationary bikes. Apparently, Nana had to cough.

To be sure, I am already so skeeved about getting H1N1 that I've taken to biking while touching the least amount of the bike as possible and copiously using hand sanitizer.

Nana has no such compulsion.

So she decides to do the turn 'n cough. Without tissue or covered mouth. Un-apologetically, she turned to the right and coughed in my face with no attempt to cover.

Lest we think it was an accident, complete eye contact was made and no apology was offered.

I mean even my seven year old knows to use his cough pocket.

She wiped the spittle from her mouth with her bare hand and then once again grabbed the handle of the bike with said infected digits. And, yes, no wipe down although the spray bottle of disinfectant and towels expectantly sat nary two feet from her machine.

Grrrr...

Then this week, I grab a bike, see that it isn't working and move on to the next. Over the course of my 1 hour 20 minutes of biking, other patrons come and go. Many try the broken bike and some even check cords to fix it before shrugging and moving on. There are always plenty of machines available at this time of day.

Not Nana.

Nope, she takes all her towels, magazine rack, and magazine there and settles in.

I actually didn't notice at first as I was quite engaged with a love affair with a Barefoot Countess cooking show to keep my mind off how much I hate exercising.

The screen was replete with gads of melted butter, delicious smoked meats, and pastas.

My headphones enhanced the sounds of crunching bread being sliced and sizzling butter melting. It was so mesmerizing that I am sure I was drooling...

You know pretty much all the foods which got me here to the gym in the first place.

I startled when I heard her loud sigh when she realized her bike was not operable.

I felt a stirring of sympathy and with a smile of empathy, I made eye contact and said,

"Oh, I know. It didn't work for me either."

Her response to my commiserating tone?

She practically shouted with disgust as if I broke the damn machine myself,

"Well!! Why didn't you tell me! Humph."

Flabbergasted, I gazed back as she gave me an evil look and staggered off in a geriatric huff.

Can someone tell me when the magic age these days occurs when the Aged think their years allow them to be rude to everyone?

To be aggressively grumpy? Snappish? Meanies?

Yeah, me neither.

Perhaps the snappish kind should wear signs to warn unsuspecting patrons? A muzzle wouldn't be a bad idea either.

I am thinking however that 37 years is the age when it's okay to snap back and trip Nana into breaking her hip?

Yes. Wrong, I know. Respect thy elders. I did say thinking. Well dreaming mayhaps...

However, I know next time that I try to keep my mind engaged on that bike, it will have nothing to do with a Barefoot Countessa's menus dripping with cream and melted butter and all to do with an engaging day dream about Nana meeting a most fitting end worthy of her nasty demeanor.

There's nothing wrong with day dreaming is there?

Thx for the Flick pic by Abdullah AL-Naser and by Daniel Hughes

'lisciously scribed by Scout's Honor @ 12:00 PM