Gymsanity

I’m always worried by the guys who bring bodybuilding “how-to” books onto the gym floor. My first reaction is similar to when I spot a car with a Student Driver sign: I slowly back away and give him a wide berth. Recently, I’ve been thinking about that scene from Spies Like Us, when Chevy Chase and Dan Aykroyd attempt an appendectomy by reading through the medical textbook they’re hiding under the operating table.

I’m fairly certain that reading material has no place near exercise equipment. You know what I think of the people who do cardio while reading People. Well today, I saw a guy working out on this “cross trainer” machine (envision a seated StairMaster) with a full blown hardcover novel, complete with tassel dangling from the bookmark. The guy supported himself with his right arm, while cradling the book in his left arm. He cupped his left hand around the top of the book to keep the pages spread open.

I walked by a couple times to see if I could nonchalantly pick up the title of the novel. Unfortunately, this gentleman was bored by his workout and his book, and succeeded in brushing me off with an evil eye.

So, does this man’s absent-minded, indifferent approach to his weekend hobby offend me as a bodybuilder? Actually, no. It offends me as a writer.

As I watch Seinfeld in syndication, I’m struck by how much of the show’s humor takes place at the gym. There’s George Costanza as the urninator: “It’s all pipes, what’s the difference?!” You’ve got Elaine Benes feeling up Teri Hatcher in the sauna. And speaking of saunas, how about Kramer’s greatest line, from the hot wooden planks of the steam room: “Whew. It’s like a sauna in here.”

Less comical, but equally silly, is the way some people engage the sauna as a weight loss tool. In fact, dehydration is in vogue. I saw a woman last week wearing the long-sleeved garbage bag that now masquerades as gym attire. The whole arrangement just seems gross.

Similarly, a number of people, generally women, transform style on the treadmill into something life-threatening. I’ll be the first to say that it’s nice to look at a long ponytail bouncing out the back of a baseball cap. Nevertheless, headwear clogs up the body’s main heat escape route, raising the risk of heat exhaustion, or worse.

So here’s the scene from last Friday: It’s Miami. In July. And this guy is walking the free weight area of my gym in shorts, a tank top, and a Ferrari-red ski hat. I’ve seen some wacky getups at the gym before, but I’ve always said that exercise is hard enough without aiming to overheat. Still, to be fair, I must point out that this guy has to be doing something right. He was working out alongside not just one, but two really attractive women.

Now then, I wonder where I can find a ski hat in South Florida …

There is a whole class of people that have been ignored by this blog but deserve better: the compulsive overexerciser. I’ve even lived in my own denial for years, but I think I finally reached the acceptance stage.

I have always been careful to finish my run before sunrise, especially in summer. But because of a scheduling mishap, I found myself strapping my headphones on today around noon. I’ve long been fascinated by joggers who manage to pound the asphalt under a brutal sun. Well, it turns out that heat stroke’s numbing effect can carry you quite far.

In fairness, training under extreme conditions is way macho. Olympic athletes sleep in oxygen-deprived tents to simulate the effect of high altitude. And who can forget Rocky Balboa’s courageous workouts in the Siberian wilderness prior to knocking out Ivan Drago? Now don’t tell me that’s just a movie. I have a relative who ran his last marathon on the North Pole, and we’re convinced his next race will be 26.2 straight up Mt. Everest.

What’s not funny is the collection of injuries that follow from this kind of regimen. Long-distance runners suffer from the same joint problems as professional football players. They sometimes find blood in their urine. And triathletes occasionally show scarring on their hearts – exactly what you’d expect from any severely overtrained muscle.

There are also those folks who aren’t trying to swim the English Channel, but still freak out over taking a day off. I know someone who fit in a workout on the day of her mother’s funeral. In the same bloodline is also a guy who often claims he “didn’t like” his first workout, and promptly heads back to the gym.

Speaking of which, I’ve had a big lunch. I think it’s time for a brisk walk.