(moved from previous blog)
To work off some of the stress of job hunting, I joined a gym. Little did I know, I joined the one gym that’s home to Louisville’s most attractive men. So, I’ve decided to become a gym rat, or at least look like one, in hopes of being recruited for a lead role in Ronnie’s next Xenodrine commercial.
First, I do the elliptical until my vision gets spotty and I’ve reached the maximum daily dosage on my inhaler (this varies from 10-20 minutes depending on my pre-workout snack). I used to run on the treadmills in the cardio theater, but they often play action movies in there and the loud explosions scare me. I tune into Wimbledon and make all the appropriate faces and noises whenever someone hits the ball especially hard. When the moment feels right, I throw in a fist pump to make sure everyone knows I’m into it. I’m considering wearing a tennis skirt tomorrow to really seal the deal.
When I finally feel myself breaking into a cold sweat, I hop off the elliptical and head to the weight room. I nod and shake my head as if I’m listening to an incredibly motivational techno playlist. Today it was Nsync’s No Strings Attached album.
Now I’m ready to pump some iron. I sit down on a machine, throw back my head and pour water into my mouth, making sure to hold the bottle at least five inches from my mouth as I’ve seen done in Gatorade commercials. I pump the weights, clench my jaw and try to make my forehead vein as visible as possible. I feel like a total gym rat, until someone looks over and notices that I’m only chest pressing 15 lbs. My cover is blown.
I usually stick to the same few machines after one particularly traumatic experience. A few weeks ago, I decided to try a new leg press machine. I walked around it, fiddling with all the knobs and buttons, acting like I knew exactly what angle was best for my muscles. I guess I accidentally unlocked something because as soon as I sat down and leaned back, I fell flat on my back. I landed with a pretty audible bang, and it has taken me weeks to redeem my street cred.