Tag: YMCA

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Multi-tasking at The Gym

Okay, what the hell is going on inside the modern gym?  Today’s Ironman training program called for weights and I was quite amused by the things I saw at our local YMCA.  I can only imagine what happens at the fancy spas.

It is especially startling to the new “Ironman Monk” inside of me that likes to put 100 percent effort into the exercise with the least amount of distraction.  I’ve even read arguments that say music during a workout takes away too much focus.  But today, I ran across a few examples that were a little more blatant.

For example, Daniel and I are working our legs this morning and he says to me, “Check out that guy on the elliptical.”  Dude is wearing baggy royal blue sweats, a white sleeveless t-shirt and drinking a coffee during his workout.  I watched in awe as he pounded the beans and added texting to the mix.

Then, there is another guy that baffles me.  He reminds me a bit of Ray Lewis because he is always fired up and walks around with a bandana on his head and a hands-free phone.  He strides around the weight room with Tony Horton-like enthusiasm, talking non-stop into his phone and half the time I think he’s saying something to me.  I mean, who would sit on the other end of a phone call listening to a guy workout?  I am starting to wonder if he is the East Nashville Y’s version of Manti Te’o.

Then, for good measure, I’m taking a break between sets of box step-ups and I admire a woman tucked into a beautiful pigeon pose on her yoga mat.  I felt the tension melting from my hip flexors as I gazed at the glorious pose.  She was lost, deep in the stretch, focused on mind, body, and intention, all while reading email on her phone!

And all of this in one morning.  Amazing!

It got me thinking.  I’m sure there are hundreds of other stellar examples of tomfoolery at the gym.  What the hell is going on out there?  I’m sure you have some great stories to tell!

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Triathlon Simulation

This is how ridiculous I can be.  I came home after work determined to lay around and watch basketball, which I did for about 5 minutes. I got up, stumbled into the kitchen, ate an entire box of cereal, then decided, not only to workout, but to simulate a Sprint Triathlon at the Y.

I jumped in the pool and did a quick 11 laps (about 550 yards).  I did my best to imagine people beating the shit out of me, but considering there were only two old ladies on aqua bikes in the shallow end, it wasn’t easy.  I completed my first event in about 10 minutes, then ran into the locker room to dry off and change into sweats.

Transition One, about 5 minutes.

The large staircase was a welcome challenge on my way to the Spin Bike.  I deftly avoided a large woman talking very loudly on her cell phone and trucked toward the sterile room full of ugly machines.

I used to love working out inside at the Y, but after learning how to run outside, I’m starting to question the validity of “gyms.”  I mean, I get the weight part, I guess, but there is a Cross-fit gym not far from here that is in an old gas station and I love it when they open all the doors and flex “in nature.”

Inside workouts kinda bring me down.  But, I sucked it up and jumped on the Spin Bike next to a colorful woman doing short choppy steps on her Stairmaster, which I decided was some type of effort to be better in bed or on the dance floor.

I spun and spun for what seemed like forever, but looked up at the clock and it was literally only 6 minutes.  I was stunned, and, similar to most of my workouts, contemplated quitting.  But I didn’t.

There’s something about riding a stationary bike that is both bullshit and awesome sauce.  I sweat like a nun in a porn shop.  I mean, there were puddles building and the bike started to drift closer to my colorful princess.

Somehow I toughed out 25 minutes before heading to the janitor’s closet and grabbing a wet vac to slurp up the puddles around my bike.  My new lady friend didn’t seem to care and I noticed her ass was moving with a little more steam.

Transition two, about 3 minutes.

On to the treadmill for a quick 25 minute jog, or so I thought.  The minute that belt started moving I remembered how much I hate fucking treadmills.  I put the incline on “one” and pecked along at a 9 minute pace for, oh . . . about . . . 2 minutes.

I couldn’t take it.  My ankles felt like they were going to get swallowed into some kind of treadmill vortex never to be seen again.  There was nothing left to do, but chuckle, power down, and look forward to tomorrow night’s run with the East Nasties.

Post script:  I signed up for a 4 mile race on Thanksgiving morning and yes, I really did eat a whole box of cereal.  It was a smaller box, but I estimated about 1,000 calories.  Must be something to do with post-work-early-darkness depression.