The Annoying Thing About… Gyms

The Annoying Thing About... Gyms

The day someone came in with a ‘sniffle’ and everyone else left with full-blown flu.

A particular type of male which comes in packs and hogs a single weight machine by playing ‘who can lift the most stupidly heavy weight’ with his pals.

People who sweat profusely then refuse to wipe the evidence from the equipment after they’ve used it.

Attendants who seem to spend most of their time hiding, appearing in the actual gym once in a blue moon.

Two words. Hot seats. Euch.

Getting your shoelace trapped in the bike pedal and not noticing until it’s physically impossible to disentangle yourself without taking off your shoe.

Coming out looking like you fell asleep in a sauna.

A particular type of male who spends more time looking at himself in the mirror while holding a weight than actually lifting it.

Yes, I’m an overweight girl in a gym. This makes my reason for being here both obvious and justified. Since you have spent the last ten minutes staring at me, why on earth are you here?

The sickening moment when you realise the machine didn’t count that last rep.

The logic of having heated dressing rooms, when the body heat given off by the average post-gym user could melt the iceberg which sunk the Titanic.

That painfully skinny girl on the bike. Why?!?!?

Waiting for a particular machine and not knowing where to look.

Someone waiting for the machine you’re on who’s gone for the option of looking at you.

The horror of seeing someone you know, who insists on making conversation when you’re at full pelt on the treadmill.

Communal changing rooms.

A particular type of male who likes to pose at every opportunity; even when taking a drink from his water bottle.

Mothers who have a shorter workout than you and lean over the treadmill to see how long you have left to go.

Mothers who lean over the treadmill, not noticing the incline lever which makes your gentle jog turn into a climb up mount Everest.

Exercise. 🙂

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