Gym Etiquette

It is one more of those signs of Growing Age that I find myself doing the following two things.

1) Taking my workouts at the YMCA, so that my kids can go in the pool and we can theoretically remain fit as a family, and

2) Finding myself increasingly amazed at the lack of, well, awareness of the outside world that You Young People have.

Now, I understand that as a 43-year-old hobbit that I have strong Invisibility powers; I actually kind of revel in them, really, as they keep me out of a lot of problems. But when you sidle up next to me on the treadmill and proceed to have the 1940s walkie-talkie conversation on your cell phone WHILE YOU ARE ON A MACHINE there are only two conclusions that anyone on the planet should be able to reach about you.

First, that you are a self-absorbed twat that isn't quite getting the concept of working out, since your level of effort in said workout isn't enough to make you stop talking or texting or Tweeting.

(Note: I have, in fact, gotten phone calls in the middle of my workout, since I am on call for people in CA, and tend to work many hours. Here's what I do when this happens: I take the call, ask the person to wait, then LEAVE THE BUILDING. I have my conversation outside, then I come back in and finish my workout. This is because my mother raised me to be aware and polite towards the people around me, and I recognize that my phone conversation is more important than my workout. Try it sometime. Maybe it could become, you know, a movement.)

Second, you are in the wrong gym.

The YMCA isn't for beautiful and think they are beautiful young people who want to engage in SUBTLE SUBTLE SUBTLE come-ons and flirtations. You people have all of the other workout rooms. Instead, it's for old people who are trying to convince an uncaring God that since they are paddling around exercise gear while wearing comfortable clothing, that they should qualify for a few more years of tumor-free life. It's also for grim hausfrau who are grinding away post-pregnancy fat, or the small muscle cult of grunty barbell droppers hanging out by the free weights (there people exist in every gym), or the way too into it ballhogs on the basketball court, or the super-creepy naked old dudes in the hot tub and shower. (By the way, give me another 20-30 years, and I am so going to be that last guy.What fun is it to have a grumpy gritty old man body if you can't freak out swim class twerps? But I digress.)

So, that smart phone of yours? Jam it somewhere painful. That conversation you can't stop anything to have? Take it outside. Preferably, to the street and under any passing truck. The overly potent musk extract you've decided to dose yourself in, since your sweat comes out smelling less than designer-riffic? Go drink it and crawl into a dumpster for a nap that ends in an incinerator. The rest of us are just here to get in our reps and our miles and get back to a life that does not involve you in it.

And yes, I get why this is so why God invented earphones and why people hate going to gyms and work out at home or not at all, but dammit, the rest of the Y clowns are people I'm much better at ignoring...