I don't go to the gym. It isn't that I hate exercise. I do a minimum of five miles walking every day, or, ten thousand steps, as well as flexing and stretching exercises at home especially when I'm in front of the computer. I am actually supporting a client who speaks Spanish, interpreting and translating for her as she works with the machines and tries to understand the facilitators' comments and instructions, etc. Being in this kind of environment with her simply confirms for me why I don't go there and likely never well, unless that is, I am being paid to, or supporting someone else in getting set up, or hopefully, both.
My first problem with gyms is they are indoors. For me exercise is an outdoor affair, out in nature with lots of fresh air. Gym air is stale, recycled and often a bit smelly.
My second problem: the aesthetic, or should I say what aesthetic? Gyms are visually ugly, lacking colour, harmony, decent visual stimulation. They look rather like torture chambers.
My third problem: other patrons. The crowding can make it difficult to feel comfortable, and being this up close with complete strangers who do not communicate with each other for me is not desirable. And then there are the show-offs. For example this young Asian patron, male, with big muscles and tight white tank top. While doing his bench presses and whatever he seemed to really want everyone else to know how he was doing. All his grunting, groaning, gasping and near screaming made me think of a virgin bridegroom passing his wedding night in a poorly insulated room of a very cheap hotel. My Spanish-speaking client and I shared a couple of laughs about this one and we nick-named him El Senorito Mireme, or Young Mister Look At Me.
My fourth problem: communal showers. 'Nuff said!
I did wonder, briefly, as I'm sure some of my readers must be if my annoyance with El Senorito Mireme might have more to do with jealousy or envy. Well, let's look at this. Jealousy, I know, has to do with envy but isn't always the same thing. Jealousy suggests possession or possessiveness. For example "For I am a Jealous God." What would God possibly be jealous of if jealousy and envy are the same thing? I believe the original Hebrew would have read with a word that was more like "Possessive." I don't mean possessive like a possessive spouse or lover, but one who holds and cherishes and protects what is very precious to her. Envy, on the other hand, is entirely a different sack of potatoes. To feel envy is to covet, it's to be resentful and mean-spirited towards someone who has or is, or is able to do something that we can't be or are not able to do. So then, back to El Senorito. Am I envious of him? Do I envy him for his youth? I after all will likely die some thirty years sooner than he because that would be our approximate different in age. I will never again have or enjoy the vigour, resiliency and energy that I had in my twenties. However, I don't miss this. I actually enjoy getting more rest as I need it. It is relaxed and contemplative and for this reason I very rarely feel rushed or anxious. Do I envy him his muscles? I've never had big muscles, never really care for them. Still don't.
While I was musing about this a man my age or older, I think perhaps in his sixties, was doing incredible gymnastic flips, way up high, somersaulting in mid air with the grace and ease of an eighteen year old boy. Something I am not able to do. Would I like to? Maybe. But I feel absolutely nothing like envy towards this man for his incredible gymnastic ability and skill. What I feel towards him is admiration. And awe.
I might even try this sometime myself, but it is going to have to be outside, in a forest and on a tree.
Or, maybe not.
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