Mondays are such a drag; but January
Mondays are the worst – forcing yourself to wake early just when the cool January
breeze starts to drug you, and of course, the chore of shedding unwanted pounds
collected over the weekend, on top of the holiday fats you have yet to START
burning. I’m just so lucky to be enjoying the very domestic life of managing a
household in my mom’s stead when my counterparts are cramming for another exam –
an option I had consciously trashed when I started enjoying the pure bliss of
running on, this time, treadmill number 11, that I couldn’t care less if the
world wakes up with its eyes half closed, wishing they were still in some holiday.
(I am on holiday indefinitely)

  Gym Mondays, regardless of
the month, are my favorite. I would like to describe it as something similar to
a carnival in Rio.I have had months of gym Monday
observations that I can now write/share about.   

     As I would fondly sit on the
stationary bike for warm ups, watching the people coming and going, I have
successfully classified them into 3 different groups quite similar to high
school. There are whom I would have to call the Socialites, otherwise known as
the flirts – people (mostly ladies) coming in all made up, perfumes strong
enough to clog my poor little nose, running on treadmill with hair down, and
barely perspiring even after a good 3 to 4 hours of “workout”. These people, I don’t
even know what their business are but they are obviously taking up unwanted
space. And then, there are the Wannabe’s. The wannabe’s are people (again
mostly ladies), who obviously had no right to flirt, either because they’re too
old for the game, or too “mediocre” to be noticed. But just the same, they
still flirt, not mindful of how stupid they look. Lastly, there would be the
Antisocials. The antisocials have a world of their own – they stick to their
program as though their life depended on it. They mean business.

     It was early gym Monday. I
was looking forward to it with a big smile on my face. As I picked my favorite
spot of stationary bike number 1, anticipating the show about to unfold before
me, I couldn’t hide my excitement. It was supposed to be the constellation of
all 3 classes of gym regulars. It was going to be pure entertainment. Not long,
flirt number 1 came in, pompom skirts, fitted shirt, heavy make up, red
lipstick, hair down, smelling like somebody about to go to a party…and oh! The stockings
too I might add!. I gave her credit for the amount of time she needed to get
prepared like the way she came. She would always greet everyone with the widest
smile similar to that of a campaigning politician about to step on her
motorcade, only this time, the motorcade would have to be the treadmill. Then
came Wannabe number 1. You see, wannabe number 1 is my favorite cause each time
I see her, I never fail to cringe inside. This time, she had bright pink thong
on top of her leggings. As she came strutting inside, mindless of (or probably
loving) the people staring at her, she proceeded to working her way towards the
aerobics class. Then came Flirt number 2, in her ever so fitting top that would
almost make her bosom spill out – not to mention of course, the make up, the
hair, and thong peaking out her pants. Flirt number 2 is my constant treadmill
neighbor; well more like she would always get my time slot. Wannabe number 2 is
late again. Wannabe number 2 is this guy who would always come in the tightest
shirt and shorts he could ever wear. I have absolutely no objections to his
attire. But he’s got this major BO problem he probably doesn’t even know about.
And then my comrades, the batch of the antisocials – all 3 of them would come
almost always at the same time. They mean serious treadmill business. Their
arrival would be my go signal to start racing towards treadmill number 11,
before anyone of them gets on it for a good hour or so…and rob me of my
precious bonding time with my favorite machine.

     I hate having flirt number 2
as a treadmill neighbor – I’m always concerned about her bosom popping out of
her top while she desperately try to keep it from moving while on the
treadmill. It distracts me. On the other hand, having any of the antisocials
beside me would feel like a race. One would have the habit of peeking at my
meter, and then turning hers up. She’s probably the reason why I could run
10kph on a grade 4 incline. It was an unspoken competition. Though I hated it, I
never back down. Heheh! She doesn’t have the stamina to sustain it anyway. The
other would perspire like crazy that having him as a treadmill neighbor would
mean spatters of sweat on me! But overall, they are nice people.

     Ahhh….the gym. It’s one place
next to heaven, despite all the twisted entertainments. The treadmill is my life;
it is where I can forget about my problems and set my mind free to wander,
think crazy possibilities, daydream, pretend i’m somebody I’m not, and just
feel good about myself. Most importantly, the treadmill would almost always
replace the adrenaline rush I have decided to abandon when I left PGH. Diffferent
people may have different reasons for hitting the gym. Whatever they are, they
have given me entertainment….and of course some entertainment for my readers
too.