I recently got an email from my gym saying they’re closing down permanently, a casualty of the pandemic and a bunch of other stuff. Although it was a good gym and conveniently-located near my home, I’m not mourning its departure from my life. At best I functioned as a reluctant participant in its activities…I’m not exactly a workout maven, and I only went there once in awhile because I thought exercising might help me stay frisky as a lamb in springtime. Which of course it did and everybody always notices that about me before they notice anything else.
I do have some cherished memories from that gym, and not all of these memories involve younger men asking me out on dates. I’m not totally vacuous that way, only sort of. Here’s a blog post from April 29, 2015 about something which happened to me in the women’s locker room.
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After my bi-weekly workout at the local gym, I stepped into the locker room to retrieve my purse and jacket. The place was filled with neatly-coiffed, attractive women who'd just finished an aerobics class. They radiated health and warmth, comfort and sunshine, well-appointed homesteads and handsome, happy husbands. They were pillars-of-the-community types, comfortable in their own skins. If these women had jobs, the jobs probably did not involve wearing silly uniforms. I suspected none of them had ever dyed their hair purple while drunk or spent a week in bed eating potato chips. I sensed they were strangers to existential dilemmas.
In short: these lovely and law-abiding females were not my group.
I felt safe in my anonymity as I strode toward my locker. To these women, I was invisible, a passing stranger in their midst. They were too busy chatting in gentle, hushed voices to pay attention to me.
Suddenly I spotted a scale. It was a gadgety-looking thing, a platform attached to a wall-mounted remote display. Wondering how I translate into pounds these days, I slipped off my shoes and stepped onto the platform.
As I pressed the "on" button, the wall-mounted display fell onto the floor with a clatter. The women stopped what they were doing and stared at me.
"I think I broke it," I said sheepishly.
Suddenly the women began to cheer. Some of them ran forward to hug me. They thanked me and said I was their hero. They said my secret was safe with them and they'd never tell the authorities I broke the scale. They said they hated that stupid thing and were glad someone had finally managed to break it.
I guess there's a little bit of outlaw in everyone, given the right situation.