It is a rare day when I decide that a work out can happen without the accompaniment of music. Call it, “issues with motivation” or “Dependency issues” but either way it never happens. There have been times when I have come to the realization that I have forgotten my headphones while in the locker room and I will literally walk right out and on my way pass the dumbfounded front desk scholar and with absolute pride inform them that “I forgot I had a meeting.” The other day however I decided that line may be discounted at 7 pm on Sunday so I manned up and worked out with silence. The problem was not that all I could hear was the humming of cardio machines overdue for maintenance, unwarranted grunting or accidental gas passing. What I could hear were all the conversations had between all the people that require an additional person in order to work out.
I went from the elliptical where 2 woman discussed the top headlines of US weekly which if your Chelsea Handler it is funny, if you’re Hoda and Kathy it’s a mildly entertaining train wreak but if you’re just 2 random woman seriously concerned for Kendal Jenner it spells the end of a cardiovascular workout so I took myself to the weight room fraternity floor. What my ears found there was no different than the Sigma Alpha Epsilon house next door to me in 2005. I found a comfortable spot next to 2 “gentleman” (until proven otherwise) seemingly fitness conscious. I say “seemingly” as both maintained a bulky steroidal chest and a taut set of legs but one was tattooed head to 2 wearing a shirt that said “Fuck Society” then below his genitals busted through a set of tight cotton mid-thigh high spandex and the other had a swastika peeping through a neon pink extra small tank top and teal shorts. Which proves my theory that no matter how many tattoos one has or whether or not you are sporting slightly pro anarchy attire and neo-Nazi body ink it just takes one set of spandex shorts on milky white legs or a Suzan Summers tank top to emasculate yourself. It really wasn’t the outfits that grabbed my attention it was the graphic dialogue that perked my ears for its not every day you hear the phrase, “That’s why Jessica doesn’t let me go to Vegas for work anymore because I let chicks lick my ass while they jerk me off.” First of all, good for you Jessica and finally, REALLY?? Not even a small lowering of volume for that phrase. Just blurt that right out despite the fact that there small children right next to you being forced to work out by their overly agro parents. I hope I never meet a man in Vegas that steps off the plane, takes a whiff of cigarette spoke and dry dessert air and utters the phrase, “What happens in Vegas is that chicks lick my ass in conjunction with jerking me off!” This is why I never work out without music….