My life is a comedy of errors. I realize this and readily admit it. . . and often, I write about it. When I first posted today’s Weekend in Rewind, I called it “What’s it worth if you can’t laugh about it?”
I had a strange experience at the gym today.
The gym is a great place to people watch. And there are quite a few at the downtown Y in Nashville. First is Grunty Guy who lifts weights and, well, you guessed it, grunts, a lot. I can hear him over my iPod. There’s the girl who loves to work in some cardio before heading off to pilates class who always wears the same outfit and talks on her phone the entire time she’s on the elliptical.
And then there’s the kind of awkward guy who I think of as the Downtown Y’s own Mr. Bean. He’s always dressed a little unfortunately. You know, like those pictures of you back in junior high when you thought tucking in your shirt to your gym shorts was a good idea. He’s also awkward, hardly ever talks, and has strange mannerisms.
So I’m riding the stationary bike, reading a book for work, and just trying to get through my 20 minutes on the bike so I can go home and eat nachos. Seriously. Mr. Bean comes in and I try hard not to watch him or make fun of him, because I’ve seen so many people do that to him, and I feel a bit sorry for him. He zips over to one of the benches, puts a bar on it, lies down, does a few practice lifts with no weights. The next thing I know, he’s directly in front of me, doing some sort of squat, then a stretch that involves sticking his butt in the air. All the while, he’s kind of muttering to himself.
Finally, he hops on the bike next to me and starts pedaling away, like super speed. I’m just trying to finish my chapter and the workout and attempting NOT to stare at him.
Then it happened. He just started throwing his hands together, clapping. For no apparent reason. I don’t know if he just felt like clapping, if he thought it would up his heart rate or tone his arms. But he’s clapping and it’s like that slow clapping you do at a game to get the whole crowd clapping along with you. But now people are staring, I’m a bit embarrassed for him, and I’ve got like 10 minutes left.
Then, like a flash, he’s off the bike and back over lifting weights.
I wonder what nicknames people have for me at the gym. Girl-who-runs-funny? Uncoordinated girl? Girl with all the basketball shirts? Awkward woman?
Who knows. Maybe it’s better not to know.