This Week At The Gym: Screaming, Slow Twerking, and Who Let The Dogs Out

You wouldn’t know it if you looked at me, but ya boi’s been spotted around the gym. I typically go 3-5 times a week, usually before 6:30. I like to get there early. It helps me wake up and find the strength to endure another day of mediocrity. I’ve also found if you get there before the sun comes up, you’ve got a pretty good chance of not having to deal with the mirror campers, BDSM outfit wearers, and the guys who prefer to do their texting and tweeting from the weight bench instead of the toilet.

But even with all my pre-dawn gym seshes, I’ve still borne witness to plenty of antics and foolery. Frankly, I should’ve started this column a year ago. God knows I’ve seen some straight wild shit I wanted to share with y’all but forgot about. Fortunately, starting now and continuing until I either forget or decide I’m bored, I’ll be chronicling the various weird, wild, and wrong shit that pops off in my gym from week to week. Let’s get it.

I’ve definitely been guilty of using a little vocal motivation to get through a set. It’s normal. You hit that seventh rep, the muscles say they can’t go any farther, so you shut them up with a grunt or a heavy breath or The Lord’s Prayer or whatever the hell it is you scream when you need to lock it out. However, what I’ve never done, is take that screaming with me to the locker room. As far as I’m concerned, the locker room is a place of quiet for us to shower, reflect in the mirror on the marginal progress we’ve made toward our fantasy of the perfect body, and, most importantly, count the tiles on the floor. Unfortunately, not everyone agrees. Last Thursday my gym’s locker room was held hostage for approximately half an hour as an audio terrorist proceeded to wag his unsheathed piece around and yell, “oh YEAH!” about four times. I don’t know if he was hollering because he was feeling the soundtrack, because he’d just had the workout of his life and the endorphins demanded expression, or if his attention deficiency got the best of him and he just needed some eyeballs on him, be they eyeballs of horror or not. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I hope I never do again.

In a similar instance of giving in to one’s baser instincts, a guy decided the cable machines, which sit in the true center of the gym, would be the perfect place to grind on his girlfriend. Look, it’s natural to feel some type of way while you workout. I can’t speak from experience, as I myself am a man of purity and do not partake of such sins, but I would guess working out is pretty high on the list of activities that produce the same feelings as doing a lil’ sex. So, I don’t blame the guy if he started to feel himself halfway through his glamour workout, looked over at his lady friend, and started to feel something else. But for God’s sake, do not start GROPING her. This dude had two hands full of ass while his poor girlfriend struggled through her tricep cables. The whole rest of their workout was spent with him cupping, pinching, and grinding every part of her he could while she went through all the stages of embarrassment. Fellas, you’re not flexing on everyone and making yourself look like a big time sex haver by kneading cheek in the middle of your set. You’re making yourself look like an immature perv that can’t wait until you get home like a normal person. Stop it.

I guess the theme to last week’s fitness freakishness was sex. My final story to share is seeing a guy walk in, go through an entire workout, and walk out of the locker room changed and ready for his work day, all while sporting a choke chain with a dog name tag. No, not the kind of dog tag you get when you join the military. The kind you laser print at PetSmart with Gunner or Traeger on one side and your cell number on the other. No kink shaming. I’m not going to comment any further than noting that I watched an adult man wear a dog collar with a tag. That’s all I have to say about that.

I can’t promise each week’s column will be Fitness After Dark. Next week’s might be centered on bench campers or dumbbell hoarders. Who knows. You’re just going to tune-in to find out. See you at the rack.

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