Favorite Person At The Gym Awards: Mr. Red Shorts

I am practicing my "act like an adult" skills this week and hanging out with my 8 year old niece while her parents are both out of town for 3 days. You know, get up before sunrise, wake her, make her breakfast, get her to school on time (with shoes, socks, backpack AND homework) and hopefully remember to pick her up. Oh, and then I have to entertain her, feed her, make sure she does her homework AND goes to bed at a reasonable hour. This stuff is hard! Okay, it is not that hard, and it is quite fun to spend some time with her before she realizes how uncool I actually am. This will probably happen around the age of 12 or 13, though her dad (my brother) has been telling her about my uncoolness for 8 years now. (It is true, I am really not that cool. Have you seen what kind of shoes I wear? The same kind of clogs old ladies and uncool hippies wear. What? They are comfortable and practical!). Anyways, so this has allowed me to spend some time at the gym while she is at school, working on the stay at home aunt thing. Which brings me to the actual reason for the post entitled FAVORITE PERSON AT THE GYM AWARDS.

The Gym

You walk in the front doors, take a giant whiff of the sweaty, musty, old, stale gym sock air and check in at the front desk, fumbling for your member card or pass code, dropping your keys, iPod or phone (possibly all three at the same time). You casually take a look around to see who is on what machine, I mean what machines are available, and swiftly walk to the locker room to adjust your too short spandex pants that are clearly so 6 years ago and meant for yoga, which you aren't even doing today. Okay, maybe that is just me. Once I settle on a machine, I try to read or watch one of the 27 TVs tuned to either sports or the Food Network, which somehow seems counterproductive because it just makes me hungry. Out of the corner of my eye, I start people watching. Admit it, you do it too. It's hard not to! So many people in fairly close quarters, lost in their own little workout worlds trying to either get noticed or blend in and hope no one can tell they have no idea what they are actually doing. Clearly, I am the latter. No one looks their best while working up a sweat. I certainly know that my sweaty, beet red face, frizzy hair, huffing and puffing and pained expressions while bench pressing 12 pounds are not so much attractive. Kidding! I can't even bench press 12 pounds, more like 8. Anyways, there are always certain people that catch my eye. And I am not talking about the cocky, cut, good looking dudes. Yesterday, my FAVORITE PERSON AT THE GYM was an older, very fit gentleman. He was short (by my 5'9" standards), say about 5'5" and probably in the 50-60 years old range, though his biceps were that of a 20 year old. Not that I was checking him out, but his homemade tank top practically had giant neon arrows pointing to his "guns," screaming "yep, got a licenses for these bad boys and yes, the gym IS that way." They were huge, like he had cantaloupes duct taped to each arm. Back to his tank top. A "tank top" according to Wikipedia "may refer to a type of sleeveless shirt worn by men and women a sleeveless sweater, also known as a sweater vest; or, the plating forming the inner bottom of a ship hull." In this case, I think the last definition is the most applicable. A mere sleeveless shirt or traditional tank top did not provide enough circulation, I can only assume, so he made his own by cutting the arms and sides off a crew-neck t-shirt, creating something that looked more like a bib in the front and back. When he was standing in profile, he essentially was not wearing a shirt, as the sides were so low cut and you could clearly see his very defined chest. Not to worry, he was wearing a gold chain that hung outside the t-shirt that could be seen from all angles. But this was not my favorite part. My favorite part were the shorts, the long red gym shorts. You know the kind the guys used to wear in gym in high school? Draw string, long, baggy, made of some sort of nylon/mesh combo. His shorts were long, to his knees but again, because I assume his hot muscles needed more cool air, he added his own special flair. The shorts were tucked up into what I imagine were his leopard print manties (man panties in case you are slow), shortening them to the length of running shorts, very, very short, running shorts. But again, this is not my favorite part. His expressions were as serious as his muscles, and I was curious to see what types of exercises he was doing to maintain his 24" waist (it was tiny!) and melon arms. I watched him set up on of those pulley weight machines that you stand in front of and pull down from overhead, waiting to see the entire 200+ pound weight rack go up and down as he pumped iron. It did not. He tucked his shorts up higher, squatted down and proceeded to pull the handle and only one, tiny, little, itty bitty maybe 10 pound weight went up and down as he pulled. I am in big trouble if it only takes 10lbs to get guns like that. Like I need another reason not to lift weights! Clearly, he knows a thing or two about lifting weights and building muscles so I should not judge his workout regime. Next time I see him, I might even ask for a tip or two.

Next edition of FAVORITE PERSON AT THE GYM AWARDS: The Grunter.