This List Of 7 Awful People At The Gym Will Enrage You

You know it’s coming: after the New Year arrives and this season’s feasts and parties are all over, the postprandial guilt and tightened waistband will very likely drive you to sign up for or renew a gym membership. Many people hit the gym in earnest pursuit of exercise, but of course there’ll always be a sub-cluster of dickheads sliming their way among the decent folk. As you begin to burn off some of that eggnog and pumpkin pie, see if you can spot some examples of the following…then join me in my continuing prayers for a zombie apocalypse.

 

1. The Twitlet. Wears full, freshly-applied makeup. Spends most of her time flapping her knees limply on the adductor machine while yipping into her pink rhinestone iPhone. (Note: Although this article is mainly about universals, there are more of these at the WREC than anyplace else I’ve been. I’m fairly sure the windows on the second story of the WREC are shatterproof, because when I once tried to throw a Twitlet through it, she just bounced off, making weak little cries of “Ewmahgaw! CREEPY! You’re just jealoussss” as she crumpled to the floor. It wasn’t quite as satisfying as if she’d actually gone through, but you take your gratification where you can find it.)

2. The Runner Without a Road. He’s just slumming as he kills time between marathons. Fellow paragons of fitness are acknowledged; mere mortals are contemptuously ignored. Unless you yourself have just stepped off the cover of Runner’s World, don’t bother attempting eye contact.

3. The Two-Headed Hydra. These “ladies”, which nearly always manifest in pairs, are identified by their whisperings to one another as they give everyone else—mainly other females—slow, disdainful once-overs in lieu of working out. THHs can crop up just about anywhere in the gym, but can be extra-stabby-making in a yoga class (where people go to chill the fuck out, you idiot hens). They’re a shining example of how women are ever so much more supportive of one another (and more mature) than men.

4. Oh Shit, I’m Not 19 Anymore (aka The Post-Larval Form of the Twitlet). Nowadays she has to put a little effort toward working out, since time and metabolism are starting to gang up on her. This unwelcome intrusion of reality into her Disney Princess world has her good and pissed. Like the guy in the men’s bathroom who takes the urinal right next to yours even though there are a dozen others, she will hop on the treadmill adjacent to you, ignoring the vast line of unoccupied ones—and will then, without a word, begin to compete against you. If you’re at intensity level 5, she HAS to be at level 7. If you go to level 7, she MUST go to level 9. It’s like having your own angry, temporary stalker.

5. The Weight Room Tool. He’s identified by his mating call—although it’s not always clear what he’s trying to attract—which sounds mostly like “UrrrAWWWWGH… sssSSSSsss…” In the rare moments when he’s not blasting his pecs, he can be seen strutting around slowly and semi-aimlessly, chest thrust forward and arms held out stiffly to better display the product of all that hard work. Welcome to the gun show! Sometimes these mouth-breathers evolve to the point that they no longer need to bawl and hiss on every rep—but they still absolutely must drop the weights at the end of each set, announcing their godlike accomplishments with loud clangs. Hey, how is anyone gonna notice that you’re a fountain of testosterone unless you make a lot of fucking noise?

6. The Insecure Frat Boy. He could be younger or older, an actual frat boy or a high school dropout, in shape or not. The unifying feature of these man-children is their real purpose for being at the gym— which is to loudly greet fellow bros, chat up spandex-clad girls, and openly sneer at everyone else. They’ll dutifully do a little lifting or fart around on a treadmill for appearance’s sake, but quickly get down to business. It’s cute witnessing their obsession with selling the idea that they’re stone-cold playas. Well, it would be if they were old enough to make car payments.

7. Somebody’s Precious, Oblivious Child. Often under the age of 5, s/he stumbles along—always with a dazed expression— looking everywhere except directly in front of his/her face. Inevitably, you will collide with one; only then will the parent finally activate and mutter “Watch where you’re going, JaydenKayleeHunterIsaac.” I don’t blame the kids themselves, but the jagoff parents who think the rest of the world revolves around their holy sprog. In a slightly less civilized world, they would be called Speed Bumps.

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Mona Treme sees a lot of evidence that [insert deity’s name here] has a sense of humor, and not just in the mirror.