Gym-Bob

As a 100-somethingish pound girl in her 20's, it's always a little intimidating walking into a gym full of thick-necked beefmonkeys doing squats and assaulting poor tires with sledgehammers in homage to the Cross Fit gods. But, in the name of fitness and the dream of rock-hard abs (HA!), I (bench)press on. Pun intended.

My usual strategy of wearing what I call a "man deflector"--a thin metal band, purchased in bulk from Walmart and vaguely resembling a wedding ring, has been hit and miss to say the least. So to the deflection package, I have added the ensemble cast of headphones, baggy clothes, and stern expression.

However, over the weekend I worked out with my friend, so instead of headphones, we chatted and laughed, as one would expect to do when working out with your best friend of over 15 years. Unfortunately, our lack of headphones and other man-deflecting accessories made us prime targets for the hungry monkeys to come impose their beefiest of wisdom upon us. "Uh, you know ladies," says the pencil-legged, potbellied gent with the bandanna, "the moves you are doing...are those from Cross Fit? Because I...[hee haw, hee haw, insert some sort of monkey verbiage...]" For gods sake, beefmonkeys--leave us be! But of course, being the nice ladies that we are, we smiled and nodded, until he finally left us to our business of performing squats with the 25lb bar.

A few sets later, and a Graying Soul Patch Monkey approaches us. "Yo", he rubs his nose with his thumb and glances around conspiratorially. "Yo ladies, what did that guy say to you?" Referring of course to Senor Bandanna. "I only ask because he is always giving advice, but he doesn't know what he's talking about. Now, I don't want to bug you, but when you are doing squats [hee haw...I was studying sports medicine in '82...hee hawwwwww....]" Again, we smile and nod, until we make our escape to a small stretching room adjacent to the weight room. Surely we are safe here!!

Not so the wicked. "Hey, hey ladies?" Soul Patch. "I don't mean to bug you, but...[rah rah, sis-boom-monkey-speak for 5 minutes]..."

And sure enough, two minutes later. "Excuse me, can I...[woooooooonkaaaaaaaaaaahh...]" Soul Patch. Again!

GOOD GOD.

Needless to say, we left the gym that day with a wealth of knowledge on some sort of ancient monkey ritual. But more importantly, we left with a keen desire to hone our skills of man deflection. I am thinking of adding some sort of nun habit to my deflecting arsenal. Or perhaps purchasing some sort of...man suit. At any rate, let this be a lesson to all you beefcakes out there: if I don't ask for help, I don't want it. And if you ask me if I want help? Yes definitely means no.

Peace out (B-town)