I don’t know why everyone wants to be young. I’m at the gym, and it’s the first time in my life I fully appreciate old people.
The gym itself is ok. Considering my chronic unfitness, i’m actually enjoying myself. I like buildings that embrace the “I can’t be bothered finishing this so I’ll just paint it grey, leave some strange corners and call it minimalist” look. I like the smell of panic as women try to out do each other on the treadmill. I like the self congratulating grunts of pain the guys make when they lift heavy shit up and down. Reassurance of their own success in life that they can shift 50 kgs of metal 30 cm. I like the way they try to fill it with things that stop you from hearing your body is screaming “stop! stop! I’ll never have a cronut again, just STOP!”
But one thing I hate is the gym junkies.
Why? I’m not jealous of them. Partly because they probably couldn’t spell the word jealous. Not because they bully me. They don’t talk to me. I don’t speak cross-trainer. So what is is that pisses me off?
They stare at how much I sweat. And yes, I do look like a blue fin tuna swimming in a river when I run. I also go deathly white with red flushes which makes me look like a radish in a food blender. And i’m ok with this. But gym junkies aren’t. They look at me, they look at the puddle i’m dripping into and they sniff and toss their hair. Their young, tanned, toned bodies are teflon coated. They don’t sweat. Sweating is for mortals.
But it’s ok. Because I have found the solution. This is why I like old people. When I train with them, they’re just nice, slightly crumpled and fond of bright lycra. They saw Vietnam, the great depression and cheese in a can. You think your sweat freaks them out?
I think as you get older you just give less of shit about what people think. And I just love their acceptance. Either that or they’re blind.