Something tough .. someday you must go thruogh it

When the going gets tough, when the tough can't bring themselves to clean the house or do laundry or look for a job, the tough go to the gym. My gym is within walking distance of the house. It's unpretentious. No one bothers me, or talks to me, or carries on any sort of conversation. Sometimes women will talk to each other in the locker room, but it's network television or some radio station I don't care for and everyone quietly counts their reps. I like that in a gym. It's hard to find a place to work out in San Francisco that isn't a pickup joint. Nevermind what the boys do in the men's locker room, I just can't stand sweating in the kind of place where women put on makeup before going to their afternoon aerobics class. There are some things I simply should not be forced to endure. There's a pleasant hum of activity in the gym, everybody going about their business, machines running, weights clicking up against each other, "personal trainers" with immensely broad chests intimidating neophytes into doing one more set of situps. Gym etiquette is like library etiquette in that no one ever makes eye contact with a stranger. There's no one I want to make eye contact with in the second mile of my run. I'm a terrible runner, all short legs and no stamina. After twenty minutes or so, my legs feel like Jello. There's no one I want to make eye contact with while I'm stretching. Stretching in a public place always makes me feel like whoever is watching is trying to imagine what I'd be like in bed. I know it's an irrational concern, but I just can't shake it. It's paranoid delusions like this that make yoga classes impossible for me. There's certainly no one I want to see when I'm doing freeweights or machines. H.R. Giger missed his calling. He should have designed exercise machines, sleek and terrifying black monsters powered by the force of grimacing and grunting humans counting "twenty-one...ugh...twenty-two...ugh...twenty-three..." I think he would have liked it. I hate weight machines almost as much as I hate running, but I use them, hoping to tone that one little obscure muscle that the machine indicates it is designed to improve. Soon, the world's most powerful triceps will be mine! As much as I hate exercise, I do love coming home with my lungs feeling clear and my whole body buzzing with extra oxygen. I like waking up in the morning just a little bit sore, so that I feel like all of my muscles are really there. It's worth it. In fact, I think I'll go again tomorrow.