Gym Gothic

Getting fit without giving a shit

By Aaron Guilen, Staff Reporter

Why would you willingly participate in a sweaty torture chamber day in and day out for a slightly thinner version of yourself? Considering the lack of fucks that you give, you somehow convince yourself that a workout is worth it, but your superego angrily whispers the sweet truth to you every single time:

“You need some cheesecake in your mouth right now.”

“This treadmill has no power over you.”

“Why do these ripped men come to the gym at all? Why would one wish to live within this miserable reality?”

These poetic and wise words fill your thoughts as you desperately hold onto a plank position (one that you’ve been holding for an entire eight seconds—the horror).

But let us not get carried away, like those idiotic beginner gym goers who trip and fall on the treadmills (one of the few instances that brings a smile to your face in this dreary world). You begin the journey through your gym workout regimen (or whatever mumbo jumbo jargon those personal trainers like to use).

Your conscious state returns to you the moment you enter the recreation center. Where are you? Why are all these old women playing badminton? As you enter the change room, a sea of naked elderly men floods out of the sauna and shower areas, wiggling their junk for all to see. This is not what I signed up for, you think to yourself despairingly. You keep your head down as you drift towards the lockers, avoidant of any interaction with these strangers and their strange sustenance, what the natives call “gorp” (“good ol’ raisins and peanuts”—you shudder at the very thought). You quickly dress yourself in your customary old sweat-absorbing shirt and grey shorts because you despise change, making your presence at the gym somewhat ironic. Sooner than later, you are out of the saggy world that is the locker room and head over to the gym proper.

You refill your water bottle at the fountain that many gym-goers have dripped sweat onto, to your disdain. You begin with a HIIT interval warmup, ignoring your aching conscience. In truth, you are a person that cuts corners. You love to cheat the system and burn the most calories. (Honestly, you don’t even know if it works. You’re gullible and are easily fooled.) After several minutes of jumping jacks, knee highs, and planks, the sweat print on the floor has become a permanent feature of the gym.

With your blood pumping and muscles aching, you hop onto the exercise bike in the corner of the gym. As you look out over the outside world, you see trees of green, red roses too, you see them bloom for just you, and you think to yourself: What a waste of time this all is.

You return to a not-so blissful reality, as you pedal away, not moving, but frequently shaking the bike due to your aggressive movements and heavy weight. After 30 minutes of mind-numbingly similar EDM songs, you head over to the final part of the workout—the arm machines.

Since the dawn of time, you have had no clue what exactly certain machines do to certain muscles, but because an extremely fit man has just finished using it, you convince yourself that you too can sculpt your body like him if you finish enough useless reps on this one specific machine. After completion, you head back over to that bacteria-infected water fountain and take out your headphones, now blaring the soul-soothing acapella tunes of three-time Grammy-winners Pentatonix. You take a quick glance back at the gym before you exit, once again turned off by the amount of grunting and hyperventilating that is taking place behind you. You will find yourself in this confusing chamber of despair and broken dreams again… but definitely not within the next month.