Bitches At The Gym

Imagine it, you are there. You have waited a long time for this moment. You have psyched yourself up, followed fitspiration on twitter, @skinnykitchen on Instagram, you are ready. The slick shiny doors slide open and you step over the threshold of the most exclusive for-anyone membership there is: the gym.

If you are a first time member of a gym or, like me, you have had a vaguely successful gym membership for a little while you will still be familiar with the rant I am about to tirade you with. Yes. You know it, you see them everyday, you may even be one of them. Bitches at the gym.

20140415-184206.jpg

This species of gym goer first become apparent to you when you mosey happily into the changing room. While you are trying to mentally prep your grey matter for the testosterone infused aroma of the free weight room you are suddenly accosted by a breast in the face by a six foot leggy blonde who is comfortable-with-her-body-and-doesn’t-give-a-shit-about-showing-it-biatch. Yes, well done, you have a double D pair bounding around your chest, but that doesn’t mean they need to be shaken in my face like a pair of mirakas at a Brazilian festival while I’m trying to squirm into my training bra. It doesn’t make it ok that you’re changing at the gym, you do not essentially attempt to suckle me while I change ‘biatch’.

Now let us wander on, the Jay-Z has blended into your many Lana Del Ray remixes and you have made it to the waterhole. As anyone who has ever been to a gym knows, you can break the gym down into categories based on the equipment you choose to strengthen, stretch and manipulate the very foundations of your physical frame (nay soul!). You have the pull up machines where boys talk about reps, flex menacingly at one another and generally engage in some form of homoerotic ritual whereby you squat over a friend and call it ‘spotting’. Then we have the treadmills where interested other parties watch the boys on the pull up machines or engage in a friendlynotfriendly race with their neighbour to distract themselves from the monotony of being on a treadmill. And then we have the true crime del a creme of bitchy nirvana, you guessed it, you’re at the cross trainers.

20140415-184326.jpg

There are people I respect at the gym, the fat, the thin, the sweaty, the exhausted. None of the above apply to bitches on the cross trainer. These manicured beauties with their face full of makeup and stick thin legs, in my opinion, have no business to get the machine near the good tv on a low incline, low impact regime while chatting to and eyeing up their friends’ Sweaty Betty gear. I AM DYING ON HIGH INCLINE, LET. ME. WATCH. BIG. BANG. THEORY. Also don’t glance at my machine to see the distance I’ve peddled – ‘cough’ – calories I’ve burnt – ‘groan’. If it’s on my machine, it’s my business!

Now I may get a hater or two for speaking out about gym etiquette, as a gym should be a no judgement zone. But the fact is that these girls are the girls that will then immediately Instagram and Facebook their workout, while laughing at the efforts of anyone who doesn’t fall into their category skinny body type. Fitness looks different on everyone. Self- esteem is a right everyone is entitled to. If you don’t like that then leave, you are clearly done here. How’s that for ‘not giving a shit what you think’, bitch?

20140415-184424.jpg

Advertisements