I’ve realized that I write about the gym a lot, but the gym is a literal breeding ground for awkward, humorous and unexpected events. Putting together hundreds of sweaty strangers is like an improv comedy show that none of the cast are aware they’re participating in.
Today, Erin and I were lifting during a very busy time at our gym. When I say we were lifting, note that we are 25 year old girls. We lift 5, 10 or 15 pound dumb bells, and use machines, but no matter how experienced we are, we’re petite girls. Leave it to fate that we ended up next to a man, also lifting, who easily weighed 300 pounds and looked like his name should have been Hercules.
This was a beast of a man; his Under Armour was struggling not to tear apart at the seams with his every breath. I have never in my life seen a person with biceps this large. As the backstreet Boys would say, they were larger than life. Hercules was struggling to complete his routine amid a bunch of weights someone had left scattered around the area. Anyone who works out knows that it’s common courtesy to re-rack your weights. It’s like covering your mouth when you sneeze; you just do it. I don’t blame him for being irritated that someone had forgotten, but the fact that he asked Erin and me if we were responsible for leaving these weights out was too much.
The barbells he was pushing out of his way were all 120 pounds or heavier. I would be physically incapable of hefting one of those babies off the rack, let alone work out with it. When he asked us if they were our weights, Erin immediately said yes. I also nodded, and told him, “I had them out to practice juggling, but forgot to put them away – sorry.”
Our humor is lost on those who take themselves too seriously.
He asked again if they were really ours or not, and I promptly responded, “Sir, you could curl me in one hand and one of those in the other. No they are not our weights, are you kidding me!”
Finally he gets the joke. He grumbled as he put them away, and Erin and I proceeded with our human-sized weights.