Autumn at the Gym, Maggie Shayne

Ahhh, Fall. It’s my favorite season. And yeah, I know, technically, it’s still summer, but Fall isn’t a date on a calendar. You feel it when it comes. And it’s here, folks. Just look at the signs. Here where I live in southern central New York, the leaves are already changing on the sugar maples. The kids are back in school. I closed up the pool at the old house last weekend. I’m gearing up for the October release of a brand new book, PRINCE OF TWILIGHT. The nights are downright chilly, and it’s too cold (for wimps like me) to go running first thing in the morning. But the afternoons are sunny and nice. Still, the local gym is looking better all the time.

And that’s the biggest sign of changing seasons for me. I’m back to working out at the gym, ‘cause it’s climate controlled and I’m a wuss. I don’t like to be too cold or too hot when I’m sweating. I haven’t been since spring, and I’m afraid it shows. Oh, the running keeps things from getting too far out of whack, but I can definitely see the difference in my arms and back and thighs when I’m not on those killer machines every week. So I’m back. I think the gym missed me.

But during the in between times, I tend to forget tiny details about the gym that irritate the hell out of me. Okay, for example, why is it necessary to have a mirrored wall running the entire length of the equipment room? Do I really need to see my face turning red while I’m pumping iron? (And by pumping iron, I mean pressing maybe 30 pounds until my liver quivers and then dropping by five pound increments until I just can’t do anymore. I told you, I’m a wimp.) And how distracting is it to notice that your ponytail is off center in the middle of a workout? You have to stop and straighten it. You have no choice. You cannot just keep staring at a lopsided tail. Trust me on this.

If you can get past the mirror issue, you have to deal with the gym’s other members. Personally, I think they’re a major detriment to the gym experience. Surely it would be better if I could have the entire place to myself. There will be two friends, sitting on the only two pieces of equipment I have yet to use, chatting and not even moving. For an hour or more. There’s always the anorexic one on the stair climber, pumping the thing at about a zillion miles an hour with legs the size of chicken bones. You just know she’s going to drop at any second. You do your work, but are constantly distracted by the undeniable urge to yank her off the thing by her hair and stuff a cheeseburger down her throat. There’s always some bulky hulk on the far end pressing barbells over his head and watching in the mirror to see if you’re noticing him. God forbid you accidentally catch that one’s eye in the giant mirror-from-hell. He’ll be sure your admiring his physique. Never quite as much as he is admiring it himself, of course. So then you’re distracted by keeping an eye on him, because if he comes this way, you need to grab your bottle of water and head for the nearest exit, pronto.

Then there’s the basketball court, which has a running track marked out around its edges. I far prefer real running to running on a treadmill or elliptical. So when the weather forbids running outside, this is where I run. Of course, if you don’t get there at a quarter to dawn, you are faced with gangs of men playing basketball as if their very lives are at stake, and you tend to get pounded, at least once, with missed passes. If you ever see me with bright red welts on one side of my face that seem to spell out the word “Wilson,” you’ll know I just came from that indoor track.

But nothing’s quite as upsetting as the locker room. Gym locker rooms have lists of rules posted on them. No men in the women’s, no women in the men’s, no kids in the adult locker rooms, no locks left on doors, no camera phones. But they’ve left out a few really vital rules. Like, “Do not undress until you’re ready to shower, and when you finish showering, please put your clothes back on as soon as possible.”

Women of every shape and size will wrap their heads in towels and leave the rest of themselves completely exposed, while traipsing back and forth and carrying on conversations. You’re sitting there on your bench, pulling on your clean socks and minding your own business when someone speaks, and you look up to find yourself face to coochie with a sweating, naked woman who doesn’t smell too good, but who has decided it would be rude not to say hello. You think you’ll be relieved when she leaves, but only until she turns around to go and you have to lean back fast in order to avoid having your face slapped by a butt cheek.

And what’s with the shower curtains? They’re never quite wide enough to cover the opening in the shower stall. I suppose that’s not an issue for the exhibitionists in the room, but frankly, I prefer to wash my privates in private. So you’re behind this half size curtain trying to shower without stepping too far to the left or right.

I tend to make quick work of the gym locker room. It’s a scary place.

Ah, but it’s Fall. You have to take the good with the bad, I guess. =)

Life rolls merrily along. I'm still in the cabin in the cornfield. Still have no firm closing date on the new house. Maybe by next week.

Until then,
Maggie

PS: The second excerpt from Prince of Twilight and an update on my life and work goes up on my website Friday. Check it out at maggieshayne.com