A full week now of this dumb head cold winding out, obviously I'm fussy and irritated by many things. I had a half-day at work yesterday, and I like nothing better on my half-days than to knock away a few hours at the gym. I love the gym. I love exhausting my body, especially now that I can do deep pliés without feeling like I'm seam-ripping my incision.
The gym makes me happy, it always makes me happy. I put just over in hour in on the treadmill yesterday, and then I moved over to do some strength training. There was a sweaty toad of a man there doing circuit training on the machines, and I was revolted. I get the theory, I know all about it, and I even believe in its probable effectiveness: but I was absurdly offended yesterday afternoon. I am a fan of supersets, having your muscles reach failure before moving on, quivery and questioning continued movement at all.
So I'm sitting there breathing through my pectoral work, and this man stops briefly in front of me with a quick diva look that I swear said, "You've been there so long (all 90 seconds)! I wanted to use that machine next!" Then he continued on to the next machine with a barely audible huff and did reps so fast I don't understand how they did him any good and how he avoided joint abuse (if he even did). He was quickly ruining my calm—and I was SO calm! The sun rained in through the tall windows and pinstriped that particular room with dust mote sparkles and glorious, caressing heat.
It was like practicing yoga next to the Energizer Bunny. What was worse, he wasn't wiping down his, SWEATY TOAD MAN'S, equipment after he finished is 5-second set. At first I carefully wiped his "leftovers" from the various machines in a concealed manner, not to be rude, but after a few more looks that told me in no certain terms that I was ruining his flow, I began to clean them with very flashy movements so that he could not miss the fact that I found him to be a sweaty toad man.
