Ways to annoy me: #1

1. Bring your gross disease anywhere near me.

People generally go to gyms to become more healthy.  Just in case that isn’t clear enough, allow me to demonstrate what I mean in a more visual way:

PEOPLE + GOING TO THE GYM = HEALTHY

Obviously this will not be the case if you go to the gym and walk on a treadmill for ten minutes before treating yourself to a muffin for your hard word, but I’m willing to give most gym-goers the benefit of the doubt when it comes to effort versus laziness.
If you get into the habit of going to the gym regularly, it’s safe to assume that you will notice other regulars.  At my gym, there are several: some who use the gym, some who attend the classes, and some who happen to work there.

There’s this one chick who spends more time in the changing room applying make-up and checking that her ass looks good (it does, annoyingly) from literally every angle than in the actual gym working out.  She does not sweat.  Ever.  And she can regularly be found doing bicep curls with 1kg weights near a mirror whilst making pouty faces at herself.  It’s hilarious.

There are also several men who hang out in ‘Testosterone Corner’, lifting, squatting, and grunting at various stages throughout their visit.  They’re the type whose arms, when fully relaxed, do not hang by their sides.  They also have necks as thick as tree trunks.  Or my thighs, if you needed another size comparison.

These kinds of people I observe, but tend to avoid starting a conversation with.  We clearly do not have the same end goals as each other.  Others, like those who are usually at the classes I attend, I do interact with.  Some of these people have already featured in this blog (Teri, Ronnie, Ishbel – to name a few), but others have not – mainly because they don’t run.  While this doesn’t make me think any less of them, other things do.

Like when they turn up at the gym with the intention of taking part in a group exercise class (think enclosed, sweaty, humid environment) and they are clearly suffering from some form of the plague.  I’m not talking about a couple of sniffles and a runny nose here, I’m talking full-on coughing fits, teary eyes, a deathly complexion, and with a body composition of roughly 3% human, 14% snot, and 83% contagious germs.  This kind of sickness is so bad people visibly recoil in horror when an afflicted person enters the vicinity.

For the past few days, ONE OF THESE PEOPLE has been coming to the gym.  Despite friends telling her where she should go (home, to bed, immediately), she laughed off the very suggestion that she should miss an exercise class, and coughed/spluttered/wheezed her way through the hour.  Everyone else edged towards the walls in an attempt to steer clear of the infection zone.

She has continued her reign of terror, threatening widespread disease and suffering mere days before New Year’s Eve – a time when people typically like to enjoy celebrating with friends and you know, not being stuck in bed and feeling like shit.  I’m not even one of those people (I’ll probably just stay in – forget overpaying for warm beer in plastic cups that I had to wait 30 minutes to be served), but I would still appreciate spending my last week of holiday sans infection, thank you very much.

Thankfully, most of the classes I go to are off for the ‘festive timetable’, and by the time they start back Mistress Mucus should have recovered, but it doesn’t make me any less annoyed that people rock up to the gym without considering other people.  In fact, it usually has the effect of making me forget any positive qualities you might possess  and rate you right around the level of Ian Brady or, say, Gary Glitter.  And you don’t want to be in his gang.

Got a penis? Suck my balls.

I’m in a bit of a grump about the fact that, as a woman, I am pretty much going to be crappier at running than most men.  At least when it comes to speed.  Male friends that I have coerced into running races with me frequently zoom past me at the start, not to be seen again until I throw my heaving carcass across the finish line to have them greet me with such encouraging comments as ‘That was a lot easier than I thought’ or ‘Where did you disappear to?’.  Male friends who, merely a couple of months before, feared running for more than 30 minutes IN ONE GO.

So what gets you guys annoyed when running?  Slow starters in the fast pens?  Over-synchronized running gear?  Forgetting to hit ‘start’ on the Garmin?