Warning: The following humor column contains references to nudity, the Reno City Council and nudity in front of a certain member of the Reno City Council (thankfully not involving Sam Dehne). Do not read this column unless you think "Weakest Link" host Anne Robinson is a bitch, albeit a mysteriously sexy one. Thank you and God bless each and every one.
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So, I started working out again recently. I hate working out. I really do. In terms of enjoyment, I place working out on the same level as nude cactus fondling. But I also hate being mistaken in certain social situations as the Pillsbury Doughboy. Therefore, I started working out again recently.
After going to the gym semi-regularly for several weeks now, I have made a startling discovery: The gym has a weird culture in and of itself that exists nowhere else in modern-day society. It has different rules, different social requirements and, well, different smells. It truly is freaky.
The first cultural difference is that when you go to the gym, in the minds of many, exercising and getting into better shape are NOT the first priorities. No. The first priority for these folks is going to the gym to, well, exist among the Beautiful People. I learned this before I started going to the gym again, when I was trying to talk a friend into going with me. For the record, this exchange REALLY HAPPENED:
Me: We need to start going to the gym.
Friend: I don't want to go to the gym, Jimmy.
Me: OK. Why?
Friend: I don't think I am in good enough shape to go to the gym.
After I stopped having the seizures that were catalyzed by this ridiculous lack of logic, I asked my friend what in the hell he was talking about. He explained that since basically EVERYBODY at the gym looks sculpted and athletic and simply dreamy, he would feel out of place because he didn't.
After he told me this, I then smacked him. OK, maybe I didn't, but I probably that I should have.
This explains why at the gym, there's a weird cultural dynamic where the buffed strut around like they own the place, flashing their abs like a proud chicken who leaned up against the chicken wire for a little too long, while the puffed slink around, trying to hide behind their bottles of water. It's a place where the 18-year-old who works the drive-thru graveyard shift at Del Taco can socially rank ahead of the rich businessman who drives a Lexus.
The other way that I have noticed the gym is culturally different is the blatant suspension of social norms that occurs in the gym locker room. You take all the Del Taco employees, the rich businessmen and everyone else, and then you toss them into a place with open showers where nudity is socially acceptable and peachy keen.
It's taken me a little while to get used to this whole random nakedness thing. I mean, you can only wander into the gym and see a flabby 68-year-old man -- wearing nothing but a way-too-small towel, sitting there watching "SportsCenter" on TV -- so many times before it warps your social outlook on life.
It must say it is also strange to catch other men glancing over in stealth mode at you while you are in your full-naked glory, no matter what you think of such a thing. For some, I guess, it's a chance to ... well, compare. I don't know.
Never mind. I'll just say it's strange and leave it at that.
And then there is the total weirdness of running into someone you know while you are trouncing around clothesless to and from the shower.
Time for a revelation: I can honestly say that Reno City Councilman Dave Aiazzi has seen me naked. Honestly. I was working out one evening when he and City Manager Charles McNeely were there, pumping iron and discussing God knows what, probably in violation of the Nevada Open Meeting Law (OK, not really, but it wouldn't be the first time something like that has happened, would it?). After my workout, I was heading to the showers when in walked Aiazzi. I didn't say hi, nor did he, for it is weird to have a conversation with someone who is a casual or business acquaintance when you are sans trou, and everything else for that matter.
But despite this social distortion, I keep going to the gym. Why, you ask?
I have hopes of one day looking like I actually belong there.
Jimmy Boegle is a fifth-generation Nevadan who wishes Anne Robinson and Regis Philbin would finally quench their sexual frustration and "do it." Jimmy's column appears here Tuesdays, at least it usually does, and he can be reached via e-mail at jiboegle@stanfordalumni.org.