Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Pumping Iron.

The only person I ever talk to when I am working out is Heather and that is because she was my running partner for like three years. Under no circumstances do I ever make conversation with someone working out at the gym. I'm sweaty and angry and often in pain. My ability to think clearly is not optimal so avoiding conversation is probably the best option.
That's what I thought anyways...apparently we do things differently in California. We don't really talk to strangers unless it's necessary. I'm not saying it's right...it's just what we do. I am on a mission. Stopping for conversation is not a good use of my time. That's how we treat the gym too.

So today I'm on the elliptical and in walks Bob. I'd been going for about 40 minutes, so past the halfway mark, but not far enough to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I was hot. Thirsty. Sweaty. You know- the usual. And Bob gets on the machine next to me....there was no one else in the gym...he had his choice of a dozen other machines and he picks the one by me. He throws his towel in what I can only assume was his way of marking his territory and proceeds to change the station on the TV I was watching. There's six TVs, friends, six TVs.

I have no poker face, as I am often reminded, so I know my dismay was written all over my face. So Bob gets on his machine and proceeds to launch into a typical midwest conversation. Weather. Snow. Hot Dishes. Agriculture. Hunting Fleet Farm. Weather. Snow. Repeat.

Are you kidding me? I just want to achieve cardiovascular health in peace. No sirry, Bob. Not today. Today I get to share my workout with Bob.

I finished my workout and proceeded to the the mats to build my core that has suffered at the hands of cheap food and lack of access to ample running locations. And Bob follows. Really?

I can appreciate the effort. He was trying to be nice. I get that. I just don't want to talk while I'm working out. Is that so wrong?

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