I get that “judgement free zone” is supposed to mean that a pudgy dotard like me won’t feel intimidated by the fit young people, but I am judging people all over the place. I respect the chunky rascal on the treadmill, trying to get hammered into shape. I appreciate the crotchety bastard who just finished the rehab regiment after cardiac surgery. He can’t lift much, but he’s lifting. It’s the other people.
What’s with the zaftig frau who only works out on the lat pull-down machine because her legs are spread as her ghetto booty faces the room. I was on the bike for a half-hour, and she never did anything else. Does anyone besides Sir Mix-A-Lot like big buns or is that just something people lie about on social media?
There is also the scrawny college kid who wears his over-the-ear headphones over his hoodie. I’ve never seen him do anything except walk from the front of the gym to the back, then to the front again. He is there pretty often, and it always seems like he’s looking for a ride home. Maybe he just hasn’t found a ride yet.
Lycra doesn’t look as good as people think it does.
The Joe Nautalrock fella who camps out on one machine, leaves his stuff, comes back 5 minutes later, and keeps that up for a half-hour isn’t very considerate. There are tons of machines, so it doesn’t matter, but still.
I’ll judge people, but Howie Chizik taught me to always be polite, so I won’t say anything.
I thought this blog post was funny, but this is the sad truth of public gyms.