Beautiful People, Music and Sweat: A Night at the Gym
July 1, 2004
by Michael Walls

I worked out last night. I somehow manage to get to the gym at least once a week, which is the bare minimum I need to do in order not to feel like I’m falling apart. My workouts are usual good, vigorous, push-it-to-limit, workouts – which I don’t know if that’s a healthy thing, but I usually ache for a day or two afterwards, so I know it’s doing something.

You know what, though? I hate working out. Working out is boring. I’d rather spend 2 hours playing basketball or frisbee, then spend 20 minutes on a treadmill, staring at a TV. But time constraints prevent me from doing sporting activities, so I go to the gym for an hour. I even go to a very hip and happening gym – Bally’s Total Fitness.

You know those Bally’s commercials where all these beautiful people are working out to pounding music and spinning lights and pushing the limits of their spandex? Well it’s all true. That’s what Bally’s is like. Beautiful people, music and sweat.

But you know what? Those people hate working out too. It’s too much work. That’s why most of the people at Bally’s don’t actually “work out.” They go to the gym as a social activity. Bally’s is a meat market. Which isn’t a bad thing – it’s just that up to this point, I’ve been trying to figure out how these people can enjoy coming to the gym 5 days a week. (I go to the gym on different days, and I always see the same people – which means they’re coming every day.)

Last night, as I rested in between sets on various machines, I watched people. Giant muscle head men and young female hotties are the two dominant species in this environment. A few serious health nuts are in attendance, while the rest are normal people, reluctantly working out.

The muscle heads basically hang out at the gym for probably 4-5 hours a day (I show up any where between 5pm and 8pm and they are always there). They all work out together, upwards of 6 guys sharing a bench, each taking turns pressing a zillion pounds of weight for 3 reps, while grunting and screaming. Then they rest for twenty minutes between sets. This gives them time to talk to the hotties walking around in tight sports bras and hot pants (wearing full makeup and jewelry).

Trust me, I’m not complaining. It still beats working out in my basement, staring at the wall. Working out at Bally’s is like taking in a Vegas show. Plus, if the view is good from a particular machine, I’ll end up doing an extra set or two.

Bally’s also does a nice job of keeping the entertainment level up. The music is traditionally hip-hop or club, which is okay – but sometime they bring in a DJ that sets up a monster set of speakers and really cranks out the music. I’ve come to the conclusion that hip-hop isn’t meant to be “heard,” rather it’s meant to be “felt.” When that subwoofer starts pounding, I can feel my spleen vibrating.

Televisions are within view from every angle, providing sports (ESPN), news (CNN) and music (MTV). A newspaper and magazine rack is available for those boring stationary bicycles and elliptical machines. Bally’s also has theme nights, such as Caribbean night or Hawaiian night, serving food and fruit smoothies from the health bar. They also provide free massages on occasion.

All of this may be enticing, especially if you’re young and single, which I’m neither. So for me, working out is still boring and still painful, and with a gym full of muscle heads (which I’ll never be) and hotties (who will never give me a look because I’m not a muscle head) it is also frustrating.

But there is one thing I’ve come to appreciate and even enjoy about working out at the gym: leaving the gym. After a solid hour of cardio and weight training, of aching muscles and sweat dripping down my back, of throbbing club music in my ears, of unattainable eye candy bouncing past my eyes, of artificial cool air pumping through my lungs – nothing is more enjoyable than the feeling of that silent, warm summer air as you walk through the parking lot to go home.

And last night, as I fired up the family minivan and rolled the windows down, I had the Velvet Underground cued up on the CD player. I drove through the shopping center parking lot while Lou Reed sang “Rock and Roll” (quite possibly one of the top 10 greatest rock songs ever written, but you’ll never hear it on the radio) and I knew I was still cooler than any babe-surrounded muscle head.

(Michael Walls is a volunteer staff writer for 2 Walls Webzine and can bench press a Buick.)