WORK HARD, PLAY HARD

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Going to the gym would be a tedious affair if they did not provide some entertainment to keep your mind off the repetitiveness of exercises. In mine, there are half a dozen big screens so you can watch TV (some machines even have their own small screen with more channels), and you can always make a pause and read the papers or surf the internet in the lounge. Having said that, those who have had the misfortune to experience daytime TV, especially around noon, will know that it is more likely to send you asleep than to give you the energy boost you so dearly need.

So, you often have to switch to a slightly more engaging spectacle, like watching the other gym members. Purely from a sociological standpoint, of course. Far be it from me to ogle the aforementioned obscenely athletic ones while they perform lunges in impossibly close-fitting shorts... Actually, you might not believe me but I genuinely try to avoid watching them, as it is only too clear that being watched is their main goal when coming to the gym (of course, getting a superbly sculpted body has now been crossed from their to-do list). It just makes me cringe to see them looking around after each series of exercises to make sure of the impression they made, or strut in gym gear specifically designed to show strategic parts of their body: shoulders and pecs for men, abs and legs for women.

They are also the ones who like to parade in the dressing-room in their birthday suit (well, I can only vouch for the men, because I am not welcome in the women's changing rooms). But I wish they were the only ones! There is a grossly overweight, very hairy and quite ugly man who comes regularly and seems to enjoy walking around naked while other people are getting dressed. In fact, I'm starting to have a suspicion that's the only reason he comes: I have never seen him on any of the machines or in the swimming-pool and he certainly doesn't seem to lose any weight. Yet I swear he drops all his clothes as soon as he passes the door, and is still there contemplating his flabby behind when I leave the gym. Maybe he only comes for the foggy mirror?

And there are more, of course, in fact, a range of personalities that Big Brother would be proud of. There is the grunter, who makes all kinds of noise when he's lifting iron, some closer to a yelp, some remarkably close to articulate speech. There's the disciple of Charlie Chaplin who tries to catch his falling towel on the treadmill, loses his steps, seems to go into bionic mode in order to restore his balance, manages to do it and looks around as if to say: "how did you like that one?". There's the machine hog who comes to you as you sit down to do your crunches, asks you how much time it's going to take, stays standing next to you the whole time, and as you give up your place, tunes leisurely his iPod for 10 minutes before starting his exercises. And of course, there's the aspiring writer who stares blankly at people, trying to imagine what he's going to write about them in his blog... A psychologist's paradise, I am telling you!