I’ve probably mentioned this in the past, but I have a bit of a contentious relationship with my gym. Of course there are a range of people who workout where I workout, but mostly, my gym is an aging frat boy heaven. In general, I have no problem ignoring this fact, even when I use weight room, which has an air of “No Girls Aloud,” but it is what it is.
I don’t mind it so much, and lately, I'm so used to it, I barely notice. But last night, when I walked into the gym, tired, starving, and PMSing, I was hit with a full frontal assault of gym staff dressed in their Halloween finest, which of course meant that every woman looked as though she was an extra on the set of The Dukes of Hazard (sexy farmhand?).
Worthy of an eye roll to say the least. I expect them to young; I expect them to weigh under 115 pounds; I expect them to be tan in the middle of winter and overly made up for the gym; I can even expect that on Halloween, the gals of Aging Frat Boy Athletic Club will take the opportunity to show as much skin as is legally possible.
I changed. I thought about how tired and hungry I was. But, I sucked it up, and headed to the treadmills. That’s when I smelled it. Food. Now granted, I had smelled food when I was heading to the train, while I was sitting on the train, and at first, I assumed it was my state of hunger/PMS creating a mirage.
Alas. I was wrong. It was not my imagination. Approximately 10 feet in front of my treadmill was a table filled with pizza, pasta, salad, bagels, and various other goodies from nearby takeout restaurants. Apparently, it was customer appreciation day.
Let’s be serious gym management. I understand that having free food is a nice way to “thank” your customers. But your customers are people who are coming to a gym, who are making a conscious choice to do something healthy, and being confronted with six kinds of takeout upon starting my workout is more a test than a reward. I felt like a Biggest Loser contestant staring at the hard-bodied gym employees while I debated whether or not to indulge in pizza. Somehow I managed to keep myself away from the table of food. It just seemed a little unfair that I had made a healthy decision to go to the gym only to be tempted to have an unhealthy dinner.
I speak only for myself. Not everyone who goes to the gym is like me, as in, not everyone has to fight to not overeat like I sometimes feel like I do. Maybe it wasn’t a struggle for most people who were there yesterday, but I can’t imagine I was the only one who walked in and thought, “Are you kidding me?”