Gym Rats

My wife Helen and I joined a gym nearly four years ago. This was my wife's suggestion. She works for Memorial HealthCare Systems, who besides hospitals, have a couple of gyms in their fold. I hadn't been to a gym since 2000. After six years of residing either in a classroom or at a computer, I had become, how can I put this; zoftig. My weight went from a rather healthy 205 to a rather unhealthy 257. The gym seemed like a great idea.

Initially, for the first six months, I dutifully went every morning six days a week. After the first three months, I felt the machines I was working out on no longer challenged me, nor were giving me the desired result. I had espied a couple who worked out together using the free weights. Nothing says romance more than a husband and wife lifting large amounts of weight together.

I went over and introduced myself and asked for their help. They were diminutive in height only. They obviously had to do some serious remodeling to their home just so Brad could get his massive shoulders through each doorway. Fran's shoulders were wider than mine, and the muscle definition of both looked as though it was drawn anime. But yet, neither thought they were all that. They worked out so strenuously because it made them feel good, not just look good.

They did not make fun of me when I could barely lift the equivalent of two large jars of mayonnaise. They shouted encouragement as I neared blackout due to the strain of lifting approximately the weight of a pair of shoes. They exhibited patience when they'd have to add and take off weights because of the huge differential between us. They'd add what equated to a small automobile, then take off all but the armrest.

Eventually, I caught up...to Fran. Months later I surpassed her personal bests. I would never catch up to Brad, but that wasn't the point as he constantly reminded me. "It's not about the weight" he'd say. "It's all about the form." He'd add "Are you pushing yourself beyond your preconceived limits?" he'd ask. That's what a good workout and results are all about, he'd share. My mind understood completely. That and he was ten years younger than I. He ate right and I didn't. But I showed up every morning, and with their help, there was a physical transformation; not very discernible, but one nonetheless.

Brad often reminded me that if I kept coming for three months, it would become a habit. If I came for six months, it would become a way of life. I've now been going for nearly four years. Oh, I've been injured and had to take a few weeks off. Helen and I would go out of town and I'd miss a week. But I'm still going, maybe not six days a week; now it's more like 3 or 4 depending on my schedule. I have met some wonderful people there. Some are still going right along with me, or should I say, me with them; they were there before I was. Then there are others still, who just come and go. The rest of this blog is about them.

There is always an influx of newbies after the first of the year. Most would last about four weeks, never to be seen from again. There would be others who'd stick around about six months, get in pretty good shape, quit, come back in about six months looking exactly as they did as when they started. Then there'd be those who'd show up religiously, work their fucking asses off; treadmill, elliptical, and spin (bike riding and not going anywhere), and after a year or years, nothing had changed. Two people come to mind that I could swear got fatter.

And then there's the Dirty Dozen or so that I see every time I'm at the gym. Christ only knows how long some of these folks have been going to the gym. Some are in great shape, some not so much; but they're all maintaining what shape makes them happy. They know what they're doing for themselves is beneficial. They do yoga, they spin, they lift free weights, they work out on machines, they do the stupid stairs, they attend organized classes, they stretch; on and on and on they go.

When I joined the gym no one talked with each other. I could see no harm in at least acknowledging people I was sharing space with everyday. One thing led to another, and a whole bunch of us were making going to the gym a semi-social activity, not just a mild sado-masochistic exercise to test our thresholds of pain and agony. One guy even talked more than I did, which I was almost unable to fathom. He'd had a heart attack back in his thirties. Doctors told him if he didn't want to die, he should exercise regularly. And exercise he does! He also assumed this meant his mouth as well as the rest of his body.

There is the guy going on seventy that flirts with every woman there whose age is within three decades of his. He thinks young, his body says young, why the fuck not act young. Good for him I say! There are the women with breast implants who are in such good shape they'd look awesome without the artificial bullshit. There are the housewives who go all the time, hit the wall, but maintain knowing it's not going to get any better unless they alter their diets, and that's not going to happen. They still get "A's" for effort. There is the eighty-six year old who looks fifty-six. On top of it, he's got great hair the bastard. There is the doctor with about 12% body fat, him I hate. He's a really nice guy, but I'm jealous. And then there's the pharmacist who goes after working for twenty hours straight. After relaxing like that, he feels the need to expel any excess aggression by lifting large amounts of weight. Better that than shoot people I always say.

We talk about everything. Sports, our kids, politics, the economy. Nobody argues, nobody gets mad, everybody respects everybody else. We laugh, we tell of our trials and tribulations, and then we go home so we can return to do battle another day. They are some of the most wonderful, genuine people I know, albeit peripherally. But somehow I also feel closer than just a shared gym experience. Aside from Brad and Fran, I have never socialized with any of them. (Brad and Fran have moved on to another gym and I miss them terribly.)
Yet, I forward them e-mails daily. They read my blog. One, I'm trying to help her son get into a particular college. And the pharmacist, he has provided me with moral support concerning so many endeavors.

Are these gym rats my friends? It depends upon how you define friendship. Are these people just acquaintances? We are too intimate to be only acquaintances. I will say this. If any of them were to move away, I think it would affect me profoundly. Would we keep in touch? I doubt it. We all seem to occupy a certain niche in each others lives. I'm glad they're there, and I'm grateful for the hour or so I share with them each morning. The gym helped me get more than just my body in shape.