We love our mornings. The guy who works the front desk is wonderful to us, and the manager on duty has gone above and beyond in catering to our bizarre requests. Aside from the Tuesday and Thursday morning circuit class (very CrossFit-esque), the gym is quiet. Familiar faces, all busy doing their own thing. We can set up and blow through our workout with little to no interruption or aggravation. It's truly heavenly.
And then there's the afternoon - busier. A bit rowdier. Lots of trainers on the floor, equipment being utilized, mirror space occupied. Until we find our groove, we're a bit testy. There is a bit of growling going on under our breath, a few rolled eyes, plenty of sighing.
Early evening is all about jeans. Jeans. MEN WEARING JEANS and doing bicep curls. Doing squats that have less range of motion than my grandmother getting up and down from her chair. Overhead presses that look more like "raising the roof" than a weightlifting movement.
But the worst part, the absolute worst is that the two squat racks are along the pathway to the water fountain. And it seems that men who wear jeans to workout must be thirstier than others, because they're always walking back and forth and back and forth. They manage, somehow, to time all their travels to coincide when I've just stepped back from the stands with the weight racked. And I know that I'm on the little side, but they have to be able to see me - right? I mean there I am, in all my 4'11 1/2" glory, barbell and bumper plates precariously balanced, moving up and down and they just saunter on by behind me. Squeezing past to congregate at the the water fountain.
And then they make the return trip.
I swear, it can make training 5 x 5 take HOURS.
So consider this a PSA to all you dungaree wearing, roof raising, granny squatting gym boys out there: