Lately I've come to realize there is a secret hierarchy to working out in the world of "elite" (read expensive) studios. It's a subtle thing that one might not notice if you were just passing through or even taking a tour and thinking about joining. This, of course, is by design. But once you're in the locker room the gloves (or leggings if you prefer) are off and it's an all out war. Subtle as far as wars go, but it's there.
Besides work... lets face it, I have one of the most rewarding jobs in the world and not doing it, well.. sucks! The only thing that comes close to work? Working out.
Meeting people has never been my thing.. My husband, he was literally pushed into me by a friend that said "you two will go have a drink and get to know each other, TONIGHT!" I of course, was too busy. Yes, I live in the constant danger of being a legend in my own mind. Why go drink with some guy that is incredibly handsome and makes you laugh in the first 3 min, when you're enjoying ones wonderful job and headed home to be with your critters? In not so many words and omitting the critter part I said just that, to which he said "You can wait." So I did and proceeded to "lean" literally into him, which apparently means I made the first move. He did text first though! Anyway I digress, if I'm not working out and not working for a living then I'm not having any social life.. Enter my attempt to be physically fit while also being the walking wounded and the class wars that come with being a part of an environment that generally attracts an incredibly competitive lot.
It begins upon arrival, the race for the parking spot. This is something that usually involves a bit of swearing, lots of hand gestures and a few choice words. This is also a time when there's NO mercy. Just because you know the driver in that Tank of an SUV saw you pulling into the spot, this should not lead to the illusion of comfort and relief of parking. The driver of said SUV will run that Bitch right over your cute little car with zero regard for you or your car. NONE! Trust me here people, this is just shy of throwing someone into a pit of vipers and watching as they flail about trying to escape.
Then after you've parked, retrieved your bag and somehow made it through the human version of Frogger, you've arrived in the lobby. Sadly, this is no safer than the car park. This is where you will gently but quite firmly elbow your way to the front of the que to scan your card that says you are worthy and fluid enough in your cash flow to be here. This is also where someone who can't afford to workout in said establishment will look down there nose at you based on how you might look upon arrival. It's best to smile and say something witty as you march past them and hope they don't feel the need to snicker at you, as opposed to what you've said as you move on to your designated workout area. Remember people, these are the beings that will decide if you will fit in said workout area or if it's suddenly "full". So, no matter how much you'd like to remind them that there are several different demigods that could strike them down at any moment,walk on.
Now your onto the claiming of the coveted spot. The place that might some how supply you with fresh air and hopefully block anyone from getting to close to your air space. This is a dual event, if you can get a spot that serves this purpose you just might not have to smell that guy next to you that is clueless as to why he should, oh I dunno, SHOWER. Or maybe it'll keep the person away from you that thinks blowing snot out of there nose like their in the 18th mile of the NYC marathon is acceptable. If you're late and have to squeeze in next to someone of the "compulsive mat placement" category, you will more than likely feel the wrath of their stare. Yes, this is real people. There's been times that I've had to stop what I was doing and move mid~workout due to the glare that is headed my way, that should it burn through me it just may explode a small planet. Once you finally get through all this theres the dreaded locker room....
This is where the classicism really shines. This is where the professional showgirls throw down with the A-list strippers and the "Convention" girls. You know who they are, they're the ones that stand in front of that beautiful new item you've seen while at a convention giving that princess wave, showing you how much you need to order not one, but three top of the line new Bentleys all of the same make and model. These girls are out to show all that they are the creme-deal-creme of 5'10 breastless, perfect hipped specimens. This is where the gloves come off and god help you if you've taken anything less than a Spin class followed by 90 minutes of Battle Ropes, you're a born failure! Should you be a mere 5'8" and have breast, you're screwed. Especially if you're anything but angular, if you're you know a step above average but below a Hollywood 9.
Then there's the sub group of girls... These are the girls with Breast implants, Arse implants and their bottom three ribs removed. These girls, of course, are born like this and have had no surgical help (no really, isn't this a god given look?) How do you know this? Because they prance around naked with not a scar to be seen. These girls, they've come to take the spin class followed by Hot Pilates after their 90 minute weight lifting session earlier today at the gym. Generally, they're nonworking and some how always sporting the finest of everything. These girls don't even bother with the other groups of women. They don't need too, they've got someone to take care of any confrontations for them, usually someone named Boris or Neil.
Should you find yourself trying to hold your own and some how navigating all the cliques make sure to bring an outfit that will at least leave the girls out front wondering if you're the same person that showed up 2 hours before. This may be your only chance of surviving.. And if that doesn't work Starbucks always works.. Just assume whatever it is you bribe them with it's smothered in whip cream and full of calories. Why? Because maybe, just maybe it'll go straight to their hips!
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