Tales From Suburbia: 30 — No — 20 Minutes at the Gym

The longest two hours of my day are the thirty minutes I spend on the elliptical machine at the gym. 

Well, not really 30 minutes; more like 27 and a half minutes;  Alright, 25 minutes ... but sometimes more. Half the battle of course is getting to the gym; with the TV and the refrigerator tethering me to the house, it’s hard to go, knowing the vast sea of boredom that awaits.

First two minutes. OK we’re good. We’re healthy. We’re getting cardio. I’m inspired; feelin the burn. Oh yeah. I’m going to finish this, then go do some weights. And by the time I’m done, I’ll be buff like that 19 year old in the varsity football shirt with the sleeves torn off. 

Three minutes, one second: Wow, I’ve been doing this for a long time. I must be at about 10 minutes already. Then I look down at the time. Three minutes!!! What is that? How can that be?

Three minutes, 20 seconds: Cutesie pie 19-year-old with the iPod, and the “Manalapan Track” sweat shirt gets on the machine to my left. Why is she here?

Three minutes, 35 seconds: Hum, de dumm, dumm, dumm

Three minutes, 50 seconds: Ms. Designer velour sweatsuit gets on the machine to my right, and immediately starts talking on her cellphone. Guess what? Her daughter is becoming a woman. 

Four minutes, 1 second:  Who are they interviewing on ESPN, up there? Geez, yet again I forgot my earphones. I can’t read the closed captioning. I need a new prescription for my glasses. Is that Donovan McNabb or Muhammad Ali’s daughter? Hum, de dumm, dumm, dumm. 

Five minutes, 12 seconds: Why do they have to play this junky radio station?  ”Wheel in the sky keeps on turning … " Geez, I hate Journey. OK let’s see if we can stay on this darn machine at least until this song ends.

Six minute: Will this song ever end? Steve Perry’s voice is turning my brain into mush. I think the Chinese used this song to torture political prisoners. And they probably made the victims ride an elliptical too.

Six minutes, 45 seconds: Journey is still playing.  Just shoot me.

Seve  minutes, 50 seconds: Bless the Lord, the song is over.

Nine minutes, 12 seconds: Ms. Designer Sweatsuit’s daughter’s fourth grade teacher disrespected Ms. Designer Sweatsuit’s daughter. She worked all weekend, and got a B- on the rocket project in Science, while Britney Lifshitz, did, like, the same basic thing — they even worked together on it — and Britney got a B+. But apparently, Ms. Designer Sweatsuit’s daughter did most of the work. Sheesh.  Couldn’t the teacher see that Adele Lifshitz obviously helped her daughter out?

Nine minutes, 44 seconds: Hey, where’s the music?

Ten minutes, 15 seconds: let’s see there’s one, two, three, um, four; yes, four, five, six bald guys.  Maybe five and a half. Boy, that one is really shiny.  How does he get it that way?  I’ll bet he buffs it every morning. 

Gee, that one really should trim the sides; long mutton chops on the sides, and nothing on top. His wife lets him out of the house like that?  Mine wouldn’t.  Maybe he’s starring in a local production of some Charles Dickens play. 

That’s it!  With a top hat, he could be Oliver’s Mr. Bumble. One, two of the bald guys have mustaches; one has a mustache and beard. And one of the bald guys has a beard, but no mustache. Yuck. I bet he won the “most likely to be mistaken for Amish” contest. Am I done yet?

12 minutes, 30 seconds: WHERE’S THE FRIGGIN’ MUSIC?

13 minutes, 5 seconds:  wheel in the sky keeps on turning. 

13 minutes, 30 seconds: Ms. Designer velour sweatsuit’s Shih Tzu had green poop this morning. Dr. Minukian — he’s so gentle — gave him a shot; cost an arm and a leg. But, he’s OK now. I was actually worried about little Beyonce. 

14 minutes, 46 seconds:  Cutsie pie hasn’t broken a sweat. 

15 minutes even: That guy on the treadmill really should not wear bike shorts.  At least not in public. And why does he need bike shorts to walk on a treadmill?

For that matter, why come to the gym to walk on the treadmill? He could save $60 a month, and walk around the neighborhood. Nah, can’t do that. 

Who wants fresh air and the chance to chat with the neighbors? Hey, better idea:   Why not walk TO the gym, and do something else when you get here? Better still:  walk to Dunkin Donuts. Yeah, that’s the ticket.

Wow, I could really go for a French vanilla decaf right now. And a big bear claw. That would be awesome.

15 minutes, 39 seconds: – GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!

16 minutes, 15 seconds:  Wheel in the sky keeps on turning.  Is it thirty minutes yet?

17 minutes, 30 seconds: Ms. Designer Sweatsuit is meeting her friend at Dunkin Donuts in half an hour. Lucky dog.

18 minutes, 10 seconds: almost there, less than two minutes to go.  Come on.  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.  There, that’s another ten seconds.  If I do that eleven more times, its over.  One, two ...

19 minutes even:   AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

19 minutes, 18 seconds: I think the music is coming back.  What is that? I know this song.  Oh, no.  Journey again.  “Oh Sherry, our love, holds on”  If they want to kill me, why don’t they just play music from Barney?

19 minutes, 55 seconds: I made it. Yahoo!!! I’m done. Wait, that’s only twenty minutes, I meant to do thirty. Ah, the heck with it. Where’s that French vanilla decaf and bear claw?