Not to brag bro, but I’ve been in the gym for 8 years now. No, I don’t look like 8 years of lifting, but that’s beside the point.
I love the gym, but it’s also a hub for awkward interactions.
I’m not sure what to do with my hands.
The gym is sort of like this Ricky Bobby scene. I don’t know what to do with my eyes. What do I look at? It’s either the ceiling, the floor, or directly into someone’s soul — typically, the latter. It happens so often.
Believe me, I don’t want to make eye contact, but I physically can’t help it. What if there’s someone I know? Or someone trying to ask if I’m done with a machine? We’ve all got headphones in, we can’t hear worth a shit.
We’re a bunch of deaf, tired, sweaty people bouncing around a room.
Nothing too out of the ordinary.
I’m not mad either.
I think our facial expressions are largely what makes all of it so painful. We’re all moving our arms, doing strange movements, and we’re supposed to look normal.
Have you ever seen someone do shrugs?
The gym is a place for stressing the body. I’m physically trying to rip my arms off and tear my muscles apart. It hurts. I know I don’t look jolly in the process.
So I’m sorry old lady. I don’t mean to give you the death-stare. But I’m not gonna smile at you like a jackass.