Sizing You Up

When I walk into a badminton court, and lately the gym, I classify the women I encounter into two categories: those I can take down and those I cannot.

I think this has to do with my being excessively competitive. I need to measure up against my enemies, or the stranger who happens to be using the weight machine right next to mine. When put in an environment of competition (i.e. the gym, the office, a coffee shop) I need to know my place vis-a-vis the other women surrounding me.

And so began my recent morning ritual of schlepping to the gym after checking e-mail (which occurs shortly after I get up). I walk in and some girly girl is using my treadmill. It is mine because I used it yesterday. It is mine also because it works better than the other treadmill. There are only two treadmills at my gym. (I go to a really squatter gym. It's the "free" gym at the sports club next to the house.)

Back to Girly Girl on Jona's treadmill.

"Fine." I tell myself. I'll use the other one. And so I walk/jog/run/walk/walk/walk and sort of just jump around trying to find my pace. (Please refer to yesterday's post.) By my minute 17, Girly Girl gets off my treadmill and gets on the exercise bike.

"Aha!" I think to myself. "I knew it. Girly Girl is a weakling. Can't even sustain a 17 minute walk." GG just kept on walking mind you. She never attempted to run. Not like me.

Since I'm mid-set (I imagine gym bunnies talk like this. I don't really know what they say.) I decide to stick with the ugly machine and finish off my 8 remaining minutes. I cool down, walk around, and have a drink of water before getting on my machine for my second set. I am impregnable.

Note that between the time I got off the ugly treadmill and started on my treadmill, the last person to use my treadmill was Girly Girl, so her stats were still on it (again, I'm making up the linggo here). I nonchalantly glance at the machine and notice her minute count: 42:35.

So ok, fine. Girly Girl can walk far. Whoopee-f*ing-doo.

I start on my treadmill and begin with a relaxed pace of 2.5 miles an hour with a slight but noticeable incline. I find the All Things Considered podcast on my i-Pod and start walking. Everything is good in the world.

And then in comes Skinny Girl and she gets on the ugly treadmill. I take one look at her and think I can SO take her down. She wouldn't last 30 seconds in a boxing ring with me. At about 5''1, 105 pounds, I imagined pummeling her with my hands behind my back.

As I completely dismiss Skinny Girl and listen to a Tom Petty feature, I notice though that it takes SG some time to start. Poor girl, she must be dumb too. Let us be kind to the less fortunate. I feel like Mike Tyson with the heart of Gandhi. (I know, that's not consistent, but really, that's how I felt towards Skinny Girl. Like I could smash her into smithereens, but I won't since she's slow and I am enlightened.)

But then I realize that Skinny Girl is taking long to start because she's putting the ugly treadmill into maximum incline (like 45 degrees or something whacked like that) and setting the pace at 5 miles an hour. Skinny Girl would put Mauresmo to shame. And she kept at it, at that steep incline and that rigorous pace for more than 20 minutes.

As SG owned the ugly treadmill, I tried very hard to disappear. I closed my eyes and focused while I used all my telekinetic powers to make me vanish from the gym and re-appear back home, but it didn't work. I opened my eyes and I was still going at 2.5 miles an hour with an incline that would not tire an ant.

Finally my set ended, I cooled down and sat while I caught my breath (SG was still at it, by the way). As I walked out of the gym, two senior ladies were on their way in, chatting. They were both well over 60. I could tell this by their funny outfits and orange hair.

I smiled to myself as the thought of me taking them both down at once crossed my mind. I signed for the fees and looked back into the gym just in time to see Orange Lady 1 doing reps with a 15 pound barbell.