So several years ago, I contributed a blog post to my friend Gina and Jen’s blog - bitch-sessions.com I wrote some not so nice (but true!) things about a gym I had joined out in Queens. Sadly, I asked Gina to remove the post many years back because THEY WERE ON TO ME. I returned to the gym a few weeks after the post went up online and a few fellas made it clear that they knew I had written it. How did they know it was me?? Well, on the site, everyone else’s photo of themselves were pretty obscure. Not mine – my photo had me beaming from ear to ear. I could never go back to the gym. They were pissed and I was tiny. Here is the post in it’s entirety. It’s the Fitness Point of No Return.
I’ve been going to the gym now for about 6 months. I vowed to start going after a dear friend of mine, Jenn, passed away this summer from a long fight with cervical cancer. We had always discussed joining a gym together but we never had the chance to do so before she passed away. I decided to go for myself and also, in a way, for her. I joined Gold’s Gym last September and found the rewards of gym life to be immeasurable. Not only did I have more energy but I was also developing some well-toned muscles. I was very excited about my choice to take care of both myself and my wallet (which was becoming strained due to too many nights at the Carriage House, a comfortable bar I found myself in too many nights to admit.)
Gold’s Gym was nicer then I had expected. The place was spacious, clean, inviting, and always had a vast selection of diva house music playing to whip gym members in to a frenzy. Why “straight” men enjoyed listening to many of the songs I danced to at SBNY (a Chelsea club/bar that most gay men have to suffer through on occasion) was beyond me. I felt comfortable because it was at least one thing in this place I could feel at ease with. The members, boys and girls alike, were attractive. I felt like I was part of an army of Astorians in the pursuit of the perfect body. I was just like these other people, but much shorter, much skinnier, and way more self-conscious. Regardless, I continued and saw that my long hours there were really paying off.
The following Monday, I decided to give my new gym a try. I went alone because Renee was busy. I donned my workout apparel and strolled to the gym ready to rock and roll. When I rounded the corner off of Crescent Street onto 34th Avenue I noticed something was wrong at my new gym. The lovely glass that I had admired so much was now covered with a steam. It looked like my bathroom mirror in the morning after a long hot shower. “Eeeeew”, I thought, but I continued on towards the spot Renee and I had found on that blistery Saturday. It was our cute little gym and nothing was going to stand in our way. As I finished my Marlboro Light (don’t even talk to me about smoking!! I know, I know…) I peered in to the gym and found that it looked nothing like the last time I had seen it. It was filled to the brim with the types of people I would exit a train to avoid had I seen them late at night. I took the last drag of my cigarette and decided to enter. I was walking in to their world -- one that I was not familiar with. When I got the front desk, I presented my receipt so I could get my identification photo printed. The young man behind the desk told me bluntly “Yo man, machine’s broke. You can do it tomorrow.” Umm, okay, I will. I was however relieved to see that the young lady who had been so helpful in signing me up was behind the counter. I waved and smiled politely as she stared blankly at me and grimaced as if I was wearing a Gold’s Gym t-shirt and turned around. Umm, anyway… I felt about as welcome in my new gym as Jerry Falwell at a gay pride march) I walked through the gym to the stairs that led to the locker rooms. I have never seen so many people in one place. Apparently they had discarded all of the safe occupancy posters and were burning them inside the furnace that they must have had cranking in the basement. This place was hotter then hell, a place I’ve never been, but was sure I was about to be introduced.
The locker room, like the main workout floor, had more people occupying it than when I had visited on my tour. There were no lockers to put my clothes in so I was forced to wait until one of the hundreds of people upstairs decided he’d had enough. Another guy waiting, like me, for an available locker, displayed his disgust by yelling “Muthafucker!!!” and punching one of the full locker doors. “Ahh,” how sweet, I thought. There was passion not only on the workout floor but in the locker room as well. Two guys came down shortly after, changed, and emptied their lockers. I put away my bag and coat and made my way back upstairs to begin my workout. My experience upstairs was not so much about the workout but more the brand of people sharing in my goal of great fitness. I came, I saw… I wept silently. Here goes…
In no particular order, these were the types of things I witnessed.
1) Upon scanning the crowd, I saw there was a little Asian man with a bigger chest then Hulk Hogan not all proportioned to his chicken size legs, and a guy with a crooked purple Mohawk. A few guys had adopted the Back Street Boy facial hair, but appeared to have attempted this look by going to a blind barber. There were also several Latino boys that looked as if they were about to spring off the bench press and straight in to a Queens night club. It seemed for those boys that casual workout wear was not in their limited vocabulary. Was it possible they handed out free memberships to the first 100, no wait every, ugly person that applied? Was I the only semi-cute person there? I believe I was. I was all alone.
2) As I was working on my biceps I saw a muscular guy working at a machine across the room. He was an extremely toned guy working really hard doing multiple reps to work his back muscles. As he was doing his reps a guy in a brown sweatshirt and jeans walked over to him. I could hear him from across the room explain to the guy that “dat shit is all wrong. “You gotta straighten yo back. Then pull. Aiiighht?” He was actually quite receptive to the guys “trained” advice. Helloooo?? Who was that guy? They didn’t appear to be friends. He didn’t appear to work there. Or did he? Why would anyone feel that they had the right to tell someone else how to work out unless they were paying him? Or was this the type of gym where that behavior was accepted and welcomed? I found it odd and I still do. I could imagine the line of guys waiting to tell me what I was doing wrong. I was sure they were going to start lining up but surprisingly they didn’t. At least not today.
3) During my workout, I looked over and saw an extremely obese woman on one of the leg machines. She wasn’t exercising. She was sitting. One leg in the work out stirrup, the other heavily dangling off. She sat there the entire time I was at the gym, moving only when others wanted to actually use the machine. Once they had finished, she sat back down. Was she using the Gym as a place to stay warm from the cold and watch TV? If this was her idea, it wasn’t an entirely bad one but I found it quite depressing. Not for her but for me. I was at a gym that appeared to accept loiterers. I appeared to have joined a loiterer’s gym.
4) When I began to get a bit parched, I thought it would be a fantastic idea to go over to the water fountain. I need some refreshment but I soon saw it wasn’t as easy as pressing a button. The fountain was pretty normal looking except for the fact that there were no buttons or knobs to get water. I watched, as a the person in front of me stuck their finger in what looked like a very dangerous place, a black hole with exposed mechanical wires. I’m sure it was grounded and safe to touch but I wasn’t about to risk it. It wouldn’t have been so cute to stick my tongue to the water and be shocked unconscious in front of these people. “Ah, he must be new!! He’ll get up, just let him lie there for a while.” I was sure they would laugh with there no-neck friends. No thanks. I’d rather die of thirst.
5) There was also the sect of people that looked as if they were in prison. Two ladies in particular who walked around staring at the odd contraptions ( aka the workout machines) mumbling under their breath. I could never make out exactly what they were saying but I’m sure that they were not kind words. I think these ladies were the ones who received workout memberships for Christmas and were told to get their fat asses to the gym. I bet their boyfriends even dropped then off at the steamy front door. At least they probably had rides to the gym. I had to walk this far for such enjoyment. Lucky little me.
6) Another thing I couldn’t help but notice was that it felt like my nose was on fire the entire time. It wasn’t from anything recreational I had done. It was the fact that deodorant eluded these people. I have to think it eluded not one but every single damn stinky person in there. It smelled like I was at Taco Bell restaurant. It was rancid and horrible and was only exacerbated by the tropical climate they had chosen. Was I in Queens or Miami? A gym or junkyard?
I have to hope that I just went on one of those random nights. If not, have I made a $208 dollar mistake when all I do these days is count pennies? Fuck it, I don’t care. I will go back to that place and I will make it my own. I’m not there for the other people. I’m there for me. I will have a nice body and I will make no excuses. I guess I should say each day that I’m not there to change the gym. I’m there to change me. The gym can be as horrible as it wants but I’m gonna look hot as hell. Fitness Point, good luck to you. I know I’ll be fine.
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