Tales From a YMCA Lockerroom
// December 23rd, 2008 // Uncategorized
Here’s a fresh piece of wanting to end my life.
Why is it every time I’m home and I decide to workout at the “Y,” one of two things happens?
1. I pick the empty locker, sit down to tie my shoes (fresh Nikes of course), and immediately I am ambushed by two old men wearing nothing but water socks. Literally, nothing but water socks…teal, which groan out an obligatory “SQUISH” each time these two poster children for euthanasia step towards me. They finally decide to take mercy on me (no more feasting on this eye candy for FWG), sit down on the bench as their “back flaps” and “man moles” graze my sides ever so slightly. A tingle of shear horror crawls up my spine. Just when I think it can’t get any worse, apparently it’s time to dry off. I can only describe it as how your golden retriever might shake off a quick dip in the lake.
It was like a car crash. You don’t wanna look, but somehow it’s always in your line of sight. All that friction. Too much naked. Gross.
2. I settle in to do my workout. In and out (after 5 years with Coach Martin, there’s no other way to do it). And, of course, there’s some hair-gelled, cut-off sporting, fitted-hat-wearing bro-ski doing 10 sets of bench (really wailin’ on the pecs…keep the body guessin’). All I want to do is get one set in, but this guy has his iPod Nano all tuned up with techno, so he’s bumpin’ and I can’t get a word in edgewise. Of course, he’s with his four buddies, all clones of the aforementioned description, so its 5% workout, 95% talk about last night. I’d be lying if I said the conversation didn’t meander its way to Jaeger Bombs and Skanks at least two times. This whole encounter left me a little upset at the direction of my town. I did get on the NYS Thruway didn’t I? Or did I make a left and end up on the Jersey shore? I was one glowstick and IRoc sighting away from launching a full scale investigation.
Some Final Thoughts:
I met Coach Edsall’s brother-in-law today at the Y. See, everyone has roots in Upstate. It’s God’s country. (West Virginia was a close second…)