By Marcia Kester Doyle of Menopausal Mother
I’m a sucker for those late night weight loss infomercials, and as a result, own a library of workout DVDs and a machine that transforms into a torturous, in-home gym. At first I enjoyed exercising on my own schedule in the privacy of my home. I wore my old, ratty Lycra shorts and didn’t care if I looked like a Richard Simmons reject.
After months of listening to the same, peppy instructors encouraging me to sweat through the pain, I wanted to kickbox the television. It didn’t help that my daily exercise regimen included an audience of snickering children.
I ditched the DVDs in favor of a membership at a women’s gym. Now I actually look forward to my workouts, but this enjoyment comes with a price. And I’m not talking about the cost of a one-year membership. While most of the gym women are considerate, there are those who make the experience less than pleasurable:
MIRROR HOGS: These are the women who run into class late and scoot in front to get a spot by the mirror. Coincidentally, they’re the same people who lack coordination and throw the entire class off. I can’t be responsible for what happens if my elbow connects with their face.
YAPPERS: After living on rabbit food for a month, the last thing I want to hear about is your orgasmic experience with a seven layer brownie cake.
BOMBERS: These ladies drop their stink bombs off in the gym bathroom before hitting the treadmills. I understand the need to clean out the bowels before working out, but do us all a favor and take your fiber supplements AFTER you exercise.
DNA SWAPPERS: Some people think nothing of leaving sweat puddles on the equipment or hacking up a lung while recovering from the flu. DNA samples are not necessary unless a forensics team needs them after drawing your chalk outline on the gym floor.
CHRONIC FARTERS: These women have blow holes like whales and no interest in corking it for the sake of other people’s olfactory systems. When I zumba into their fart clouds, my nose hairs feel singed and my eyes water as if I’ve been hit by tear gas.
EXHIBITIONISTS: Women who come to the gym in shorts that reveal every inch of uncovered lady bits and tank tops begging for a Janet Jackson wardrobe malfunction. Go buy a freakin’ bra.
EQUIPMENT HOGS: These people get lost in a daydream and sit for an hour on the machine instead of doing their reps. Makes me wish I had a pocket defibrillator or a taser to shock them into moving.
BARBIE DOLLS: You know the type. Perfect bodies. Botoxed out the butt….and yet they whine, “OMG, I need to lose 20 pounds!” Just. Shut. Up. The real heroes of the gym are the 70+ crowd of ladies still shaking their retired money makers in class. I admire their fortitude and hope to be just like them when I’m older. Flatulence and all.
This post was originally published on Menopausal Mother.
About Marcia Kester Doyle
Marcia Kester Doyle is the author of the humorous book, “Who Stole My Spandex?” and the voice behind the popular midlife blog, “Menopausal Mother.” Her work has appeared on The Huffington Post, Scary Mommy, The Mid, BLUNTmoms, In The Powder Room, BlogHer, Humor Outcasts, Midlife Boulevard, and The Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop, among others. She is the mother of four children and lives in sunny south Florida. Give her a jar of Nutella and she’ll be your best friend.
Author Website: http://www.marciakesterdoyle.com