The word "hardbody" was not in his vocabulary. He didn't go to the gym to become muscle-bound and ridiculous looking. Nor did he go to the gym to try to pick up the "gorgeous" women there. No, he went for two reasons: First, to make at least an attempt at ridding himself of the spare tire around his middle, and second, so he could walk up a flight of stairs without sounding like he'd run a marathon.
There were three main areas to this gym. The first he avoided like the plague. This was the area with all the free weights and related machines. Guys with shoulders twice his size and waists half his spent their time there, grunting and strutting. He guessed their IQ's were more like their waists than their shoulders. Some women worked out their, too. The scary ones, with fingerless gloves and black leotards that showed off their bulging muscles. He was too intimidated by their type to even want to work out there.
The second section was more to his liking. Various machines were there, each concentrating on a different muscle group. Delts, quads, biceps, lats, and the like. He knew their names only by reading the label on the machines. And he did these strictly out of wanting to tone a bit. He had no intention of developing a "v-shaped back," as the blackboard workout routine on the other side suggested. People here were a bit less intimidating. Some people looked like he did. Others were older and trying to regain some semblance of shape. Still others were younger, sent their by their coaches for off-season conditioning. But the thing he liked the best about that section was that it was usually nearly empty. He could work out on the machines he wanted in the rotation he'd arbitrarily set for himself, a set or two for each muscle group, nothing fancy or impressive or too strenuous.
The third section was the real reason he was there. It was upstairs, and contained all the needed aerobic equipment. Bikes, recumbent bikes, rowing machines, stair steppers, cross-trainers, and treadmills, all arranged in groupings of three to six machines. Three television sets, often with closed captioning, silent displayed different images; day time talk shows, soap operas, baseball games, news, fishing programs, it was all there. And there were usually a fair number of people there, too. Some were women who put MAKE UP on to go to the gym, for chrissake...you can guess how hard they were working! Others were sleek runners, putting in mile after mile indoors because the weather wasn't cooperating out. A third type were those there for survival, walking a strictly monitored regimen, grimly trudging out a few miles to recover from their most recent heart attack or scare. He liked it best when it was, quiet, though. He could choose the treadmill nearest to one of the fans, put on his headphones, and shut out the rest of the world for 45 minutes or so.
In the midst of all this of course, was the front counter. It met you at the door as you walked in, and curved around toward the locker rooms. On the backside were stools, and behind the counter was what he imagined an old fashioned drug store soda fountain would look like . Here, various sizes and shapes would sit and order protein shakes, and talk (more like brag!) with the employees. He had avoided that part of the counter since he started working out there, because too many of the employees looked like hardbody types themselves.
He opened the front doors and took out his membership card, a little plastic number attached to his keys. He swiped it under the bar code reader and put it back into his pocket. "Thanks, Lon, have a great workout" came an unfamiliar voice from behind the counter.
"Huh?" Real smooth and sophisticated...he sure knew how to make a good first impression. He looked and saw a girl he hadn't noticed before behind the counter.
She smiled at him and said, "Have a good workout." Noticing the puzzlement on his face, she explained, "your name comes up on the computer screen when you swipe your card."
"Oh, okay...thanks. You too," and he walked onward. You too? Another stupid thing to say. He felt like hitting his forehead with the heel of his hand a few times, but figured that would only seal the first impression he'd already made.
He had noticed when she had smiled at him that her front teeth were just a bit crooked. In this day and age of orthodontia, you didn't see that very often. He thought about her face; her plain, shoulder length light brown hair, with the little flip at the ends, just enough to make it look kind of nice without making her look ditzy. And he thought of her blue eyes, not intense or sparkling, just plain looking. And maybe that's what made him think of her. In a place with all these people intent on seeing and being seen, she was plain, nice looking, and not intimidating at all.
He set his headphones and player in one of the shelves and went to the machines, the leg curls first. As he worked his muscles, he thought of his life. He had given up hope a long time ago for a happy relationship. It seemed that his circumstances had always brought him together with the wrong person. He thought that his sense of judgement about women would surely improve with practice, but it seemed to fall short, or even to worsen. His relationships had been brief and painful. His aunt...his own aunt, the liberal one...even asked him once if he was gay! "It's all right if you ARE," she said condescendingly, "we'd still think the world of you." He had patiently explained to her that he just hadn't met the right woman yet, and that he really wasn't in that big of a hurry. "Well, if there's ever anything you want to tell me, you know where I am." Sheesh...she hadn't heard a thing he'd said.
He finished his weight routine, having only spent about 20 minutes doing a circuit of machines. His point wasn't to sculpt himself, just to work up a sweat before he went up stairs. He picked up his headphones and player and made his way up the stairs, passing one of the hardbodies on her way back down. Avoiding eye contact, he reached the top of the stairs and went to his favorite treadmill. It was positioned near one of the big fans, he could see two of the three television sets from there, and he could see most of the rest of the gym. From a distance, he was a people watcher. It was up close that they made him nervous.
He put on the headphones, some non-descript light jazz that was easy to walk and run to. He set the treadmill on the pre-programmed setting for a weight loss workout, and began to walk. Both his eyes and his mind wandered. He surveyed the weight room, and noticed that the girl from the counter was busy at work. While the other employees stood and talked to the hardbodies, or yakked on the phone, she was busy, picking up discarded water bottles, wiping down equipment, going about her business. She wore the same attire at the other employees: long sleeved gray shirt with the gym name on the front and STAFF in bold letters on the back; black nylon workout pants with four white stripes down the leg, and gym shoes. She didn't stand out...didn't even appear to have much of a shape. He wondered how she got hired at a place like this. He didn't figure her to be much of a jock...she'd probably played in high school, showed up to every practice, worked hard, and got in the last three minutes of a game if they were way ahead or way behind.
He finished his routine, and felt like he'd actually accomplished something. As he was gathering his things and thinking about the rest of the day, he realized that he didn't have anything in the fridge at home for dinner. He walked down the stairs, and noticed the sign behind the counter. "Protein Shakes...$3.00" He thought this might be a good time to try one of those, and it might even save him a trip to the store until tomorrow.
Scooting onto one of the bar stools, he looked at the list. So many choices. The plain girl was back at the counter, and smiled warmly at him and said, "Can I get you anything, Lon?"
"Yes, but I'm not sure what to order...and I'm surprised that you can remember my name."
"Oh, I try to remember names if I can. And I can tell you what a lot of people order and seem to like. How about banana and strawberry? You can have it with a juice, or with chocolate."
"Chocolate it is, then. And if you know my name, it would be fair for me to know yours."
"Julie,", she said, and reddened a little. "Okay, with chocolate, I'll use milk, not juice."
She started mixing the shake, and he started staring. She seemed so nice, and so WHOLESOME.
"Here, try this and see what you think."
"Okay, but if I don't like it, you're not going to start over are you?"
"Oh, no, I wouldn't have to do that. I could just add something to it. I hate to recommend something and have people not like it."
"You're so nice...thank you! And it's fine....really good, in fact."
She smiled, said, "Your welcome. You're nice to talk to. Better than those guys," and pointed her thumb in the direction of the free weight guys. "Have you ever noticed that some of those guys can hardly walk?" she whispered.
He grinned. "Yeah. And they look like their brains are all in their toes."
"That's about it." It was nice, having a conversation with someone so sweet. He was still sweating from his workout, but figured in a place like that, it wasn't going to make her recoil. A droplet of sweat dripped down one lens of his glasses.
"Do you have a napkin?" he asked. She handed him one, and he wiped off his glasses with it.
"Why don't you work out without them?" Julie asked.
"Because I can't see a thing without them. I'd have to feel my way from machine to machine. For example," he said, taking them off again, "you see that sign behind you? I can't read a word of it without them." He put them back on again. The letters were a good 12 inches high.
"Wow, pretty bad, then." And she looked as if she was filing the information away for later use.
They talked for a while longer, and then he told Julie goodbye and left.