Weighty matters within the gym
“Where have you been?” asked a caller the other day. He wondered why he hadn’t been seeing my column in Perspective for several weeks.
I thought for a moment—hey, you try to recall how you spent yesterday, let alone the last few weeks—then explained that the recent arrival of Savannah into the household (requiring multiple daily walks and dog-park romps), a complicated layering of work responsibilities because of the resignation of a treasured co-worker, the challenges of an extended family dedicated to drama, and the need to sort out new bike routes after the devastating March 31 tornado that tore up Burns Park, Riverdale, and other familiar paths along the Arkansas River Trail, take up a lot of time.
I skipped over another commitment that’s nearing the level of obsession: Spending nearly two hours every morning in the gym. It’s a place where order reigns as I swim in its spotless lap pool for an hour, move into the well-equipped weight room for a 45-minute session, and attend classes such as yoga and cardio kickboxing (Zumba is fun, but demands more coordination than I can provide).
Tidying up is pleasant in a spacious, well-lit locker room with super-hot showers and a cleanliness level that exceeds that of my house.
And unlike my residential neighborhood, it’s close to Target, Kroger and Walmart, so I can take care of grocery shopping on my way downtown to the newsroom.
Still, as with all gathering places, gyms offer unique opportunities to observe human behavior. Among those I can do without: Several ladies who exercise in the pool conduct loud conversations while walking the length of the lanes. Since I’m wearing a swim cap that covers my ears, their words are muffled, but the noise level distorts my serenity.
Some swimmers bring along a lot of gear such as fins, pull buoys, kickboards, snorkels, and hand paddles; one woman sets up an iPad at the side of the pool and uses it to go through a water aerobics workout, complete with blasting K-pop in the 120- to 128-beat-per-minute range. It’s none of my business, but basic swimming seems like a good enough workout; using that gear takes organization and concentration, which interrupts the mind-freeing opporunity to meditate while gliding from end to end.
The weight room is a breeding ground for practitioners of B.F. Skinner’s theory of intermittent reinforcement— the delivery of a reward at irregular intervals. Random success encourages development of curious workout patterns, made more obtuse when the pracitioner is wearing headphones and moving to a beat nobody else can hear.
There’s a guy on the weight floor who sings along with what he’s hearing in his headphones, but not consistently. He simply squawks out an occasional phrase, which was disconcerting until I got used to hearing it. Better than grunters, though.
People who sit on weight machines and text are annoying. Even worse are those who are wandering around talking on their Bluetooth earbuds while randomly making eye contact with others, who then believe they’re being spoken to.
Dropping weights is startling. If you can lift it, you should be able to put it down.
Hogging equipment by leaving a backpack or a towel on a seat is greedy. I saw this recently as a young woman, weary of waiting to use a leg extension machine, moved a backpack that was left on the seat by a guy lifting barbells elsewhere. He returned and said to her, “Hey, can I work in one more set here?” She said, “You’re way over there,” indicating a space across the room. “Yeah, but I was using this.” She leveled her gaze at him and coolly said, “I’m using it now.”
Then there are people who don’t bother to rerack dumbbells (no wonder I can’t find those 25-pound weights), instruct others on how to use equipment without being asked, and cluster with pals around a particular weight apparatus to exchange witticisms.
And it’s inevitable that although there is only one other person using the weight machines, he/she is using the one you want to use.
These aren’t deal-breakers. Among behaviors that keep me coming back: The friendly greeting I get from the ultra-fit guy at the front desk when I arrive in the morning, along with his advice on times the pool is likely to be empty. Exuberant shouts of encouragement from the vigorous woman who leads an aggressive cycling class on Saturday mornings.
People who conscientiously wipe down each piece of equipment after use. My deceptively delicate-looking kickboxing instructor who greets regulars by name and says, “good to see you” before cranking up the side kicks and upper cuts. A yoga instructor who sometimes mixes up left and right, and has the grace to laugh about it. The guy that holds the door open for me when I’m coming in or going out.
That’s where I’ve been lately. And continue to be.