The Species In The Gym Blog circa 07/13/06

It was a Monday. I found myself walking without a destination. Treadmills often make for the most optimal set-up during sessions of people watching. However during these sessions, I don't simply watch people, I see them.

The Media's Child 

2 treadmills down, I see the girl who envies who the media tells her to. She's the one who is tall, beautiful, and whose figure is the envy of many of the sweating and potentially eating-disorder-stricken around her. But like those who posess the disorders, she will never feel satisfied. I watch as she strives to be confident, strong, everything Cosmo told her she could be or buy once she turned of ripened age. Her sleek midsection is bared much the way her thin model-esque heroes are. As she strides across the treadmill at full force,her hands shake, her shoulders remain tense and her arms are clipped tightly to her sides like a teen with a bad case of BO. Her eyes shift from side to side. Nervous. Unsure. Careful of her movements so as not to make a mistake in front of people that she will probably never know. She's lying. She'll never be free because she holds back. No, she doesn't want the attention. She doesn't want the world to think she's perfect. She isn't looking for perfection. She's looking for self-acceptance that can't be found by watching America's Next Top Model. She's a child of the media.

The Attention-Whore 

2 rows up on the elliptical machine, I see the Media Child's arch nemesis. She is the source of increased levels of testosterone and pheremones in the cardio section of the gym. Around her, women seem to blush, and men seem to pull their shirts down just a little lower. She's the one who the secure ignore, and the insecure hate. I see the girl who's strategically worn tight spandex across her hardened physique, and the low-cut top atop her over-sized breasts. But she's not the confident girl her face and body claim she is. Watch her. Her eyes shift from side to side, but not in the manner of her arch nemesis. As the male population of the gym pass her, her expression begins to change. For the gorgeous men that look like page 3 of my Muscle & Fitness magazine, she offers the soft, almost angelic smile. And for the men who look like Jack Black in Nacho Libre, she presents them with "your abs aren't tight enough to be looking at me" expression. She's the bitch the Media's Child loves to hate because while one strives for confidence through self-acceptance, the other aims for such a goal by collecting the attention of the opposite sex. She's the attention-whore who really doesn't want attention-unless you look like an extra from Bay Watch.

The Meathead 

7 rows up and 150 lbs. away, a large figure grunts. As he struggles to push the dangerously heavy dumbells over his head, beads of sweat drip down his mishapen expression, his back curls as a sign of his over-ambition, and his throat bellows in a thunderous and overly-dramatic sound as an exhibition of supposed strength. He finishes his set and begins to walk across the floor. Chest carried about 3 inches above his neck, he saunters towards the weights like a cowboy who's ridden the horse a little too long. His feet stand so far apart, his testicles have remained strangers for the past 23 years. As big as he walks, as small as his thoughts. He's the clueless guy the rest of the males love to mock. He resembles something of a fish-not bad to look at but hasn't got a clue. He walks like he's on top of the world, but comes across as overly dramatic, and boastful. He's the one that grunts the loudest, boasts the proudest, and carries the title of The Meathead.

The Hero

He's beautiful. The one you're supposed to bring home to mom. He's not the most handsome guy in the place, but he's the one that gets all the looks, both male and female alike. As he lifts the bar overhead, he breathes-controlled, relaxed, and barely audible. Rather than slamming the bar down in a show of masculinity, he places it gently back into place. When the Media's Child and The Attention-Whore pass in front of him both wishing for his attention, he looks off into the distance at nothing. When The Meathead strides directly in front of him disobeying the rules of gym ettiquette, he lets him pass without a sneer and without judgment. He's the confident one whose vocabulary has never encountered the likes of "ego," "cocky," and "insecure." His body isn't tense nor nervous, his clothes aren't strategic, and his walk doesn't leave his jewels like strangers in the night. He's the one you stare at because you wonder how he could have gotten to such a secure place in the throws of society. He's The Hero.

The species in the gym are not gym-specific. They're creatures among us on the street, in your house, and under your sheets. But more than creatures, they are our teachers. If we're lucky enough to understand who we want to be, we can look out into the world to see examples of who we don't want to be. What better way to strive to be an asshole, by watching someone be the nice guy?

Then again, I watch them because sometimes, it really is hard not to watch The Meathead attempt to swing The Attention-Whore.