According to Gym

With five graduate classes and an observation every week, getting the gym on a regular basis has been difficult. It doesn't help that the gym is on campus (I'm not) and quite a trek uphill from the bus stop. Still, I've managed to get there at least once a week this semester. The weather's been pleasant enough for me to jog and walk around my little community near my apartment, so when I go to the gym, I can concentrate on my strength training.

The Pitt gymnasium (there are actually more than five, but I use the largest) is the single most-impressive building on campus. It contains the basketball court for the Panthers, the weight room, the aerobics area, a sizable food court, and a team store. And that's just what I've seen on the right side of the building. There's a massively massive television in the main lobby (the lobby being three stories high and the size of a basketball court in its own right) that displays any and all information about Pitt athletics. Every time I enter the place, I feel like I've come unstuck in time and workout in a spaceport beyond the moons of Jupiter. Unless the escalator is broken; then everyone can hear me bitch, "The escalator's down!? What is this, the dark ages?" I have a workout to do, dammit. I can't be climbing up stairs wasting valuable potential energy, can I?

By the time I've hiked from Fifth Avenue up to the mega-gym and then up the broken escalator, I've already got a solid warm-up going, so I'm all ready to do some serious exercise. Except, that's not really what happens when lifting. In any given one-hour period when I lift weights, 60% of the time is probably spent staring at myself in the wall of mirrors. Lifting weights involves short bursts of exertion where I push sweat-greased barbells over my head in various contorted positions while making strained noises like a constipated octogenarian. But for every minute of actual heavy lifting, there's about two minutes of "rest time." Without the breaks between sets, your muscles will probably shred to bits. When I would lift at home, I'd amuse myself in these breaks by singing along to some highly effeminate music selections or pacing back and forth while practicing my latest attempts at phone interviews (back during those laughable attempts at employment). But in this public gymnasium with people everywhere, no one does anything weird. And because everyone's doing the same thing, we're all often resting at the same time. So at any given moment, ten sweaty guys are probably staring at themselves in the mirror while they desperately avoid eye contact with each other... or we secretly watch the hot trio of nubile redheads in the mirror as they stretch behind us.

At least, I assume they're also watching the redheads. I know I am... I didn't stick with Thursdays at 1:00 for just any reason.

I do notice just how serious a lot of the other guys at the gym are about bulking up. While I've devoted a considerable amount of time over the last few years to lifting weights, my goal has been simple weight loss and maybe a bit of muscle definition to keep me from looking flabby. I really don't have the wherewithal or commitment to spend 8 hours in the gym every week trying to make my body look like the goddamn Hulk. I do understand that muscle burns fat, and I'm all about eliminating my doughy physique, but I just don't want that kinda size. I've spent most of my life dreaming of being smaller. I don't want to get any goddamn bigger.

Interestingly, the ones who are typically the muscle-heads are the shortest guys. The taller gentlemen, lifting in the same way that I do as far as I can tell, seem content with simple definition and general fitness. But then Arnold comes strutting by the free weights in his wife beater, veins bursting and arms swaggering. He'd be intimidating... if he weren't 5'2".

So whenever I think I should be looking like a Marvel superhero after lifting weights for this long, I remember that I'm perfectly content to maintain a reasonable body image and fit into at least few coats. Being six and a half feet tall and left-handed means most of the world wasn't designed for me. I don't need the shoulder span of King Kong to make things even worse.

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"I say, Finneus. It's a wonderful day to be doing squat thrusts with these large triangular weights!"