My Gym

I love my gym...it doesn't have great classes. The equipment is outdated and the locker room could use work.

What I love about it that it the gym-goers equivalent of the Land of Misfit Toys. There are the middle aged weekend warriors. The pudgy owner with about 30 children. The man who would be 6'7" were it not for his severe knock-knees. The wall-eyed guy who is either constantly checking out women's breasts or just concentrating on his machine. The crappy step aerobics instructor who can't count to eight. The grandma-wannabe-cougar who works out in FULL makeup. The Russian massage therapist for the Boston Bruins who teaches some sort of martial arts classes while other Russian guys (mobster/thugs) in bad suits and cheap sunglasses showing up to talk to him for 5 minutes at a time then take off. And, my favorite, an honest-to-God babooshka, with hair in a kerchief, who has to walk sideways down the stairs to watch the little kids take martial arts class. She never says a word.