Gooning at the Gym

The gym is a zoo. Torture for a sensitive young man like me

I can’t even go to the gym any more— too many females.

So I’ve got a Home Gym. I tell friends that it’s easier to “get in the zone” and “really work” with fewer distractions: no shitty pop music, no waiting for a squat rack, no commute— a pretty convincing case,

but I’m lying,

as I know deep down that the real distraction I’ve shelled out hundreds or maybe even thousands of dollars to avoid is the overwhelming presence of those sweaty, pony-tailed, tightly and brightly fitted, young white girls.

In any modern metro gym, this creature is ubiquitous:

She’s got her $300 AirPods in and her $200 leggings on and an ass the size of Texas, and she’s doing some niche, vaguely sexual movement with a pair of 10-pound dumbbells on her yoga mat in front of the big mirror, 30 reps at a time,

She came here alone, usually, or she’s making her boyfriend nervous as hell as they collect glances from all over the room. She’s never with a female friend. 

She’s magnetic — you just have to look, even though you don’t really want to, because you’ve seen so many complaints of gym creeps online, and you don’t want to be that guy.

But the part of your brain that produces saliva when you read the word McDonalds compels you to look, probably multiple times, for no good reason at all. 

And you don’t exactly follow her around the gym,

but you just, like, unconsciously position yourself so that she’s always visible in your periphery,

as you construct an elaborate mental fantasy in which you have a reason to talk to her, she has a reason to like you, and you both have a reason to go back to your place, so she can sit on your face. 

And when she’s finally done her 50th set of squats and leaves for the day to go become an object of affection for some other man, or The Internet, or likely both,

a new crop of spandex-wearing, thinly tank-topped, spray tanned whores are ushered in to take her place.

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The Sensitive Young Man privately wishes for an all-male gym, but doesn’t want to be the one to ask. He may be called a misogynist, or worse— gay.

He knows it’s a losing battle, and that all these thoughts are publicly unacceptable, so he settles for the humble Home Gym,

which has led to a lot more focused lifting on his part anyway, so maybe it’s for the best.