First off, I am way out of shape. I weighed myself before starting: 242 lbs. Yikes! Time to lay off the pasta and pizza, and mix in a salad every now and then.
Once you get into a rhythm on the track, treadmill or exercise bike, you can just let yourself go mindless, let your body work automatically and get lost in your music or thoughts. You really can't do that on an outdoor trail; you always have to be on guard for hurtling cyclists.
There are some guys in the weight room that I'm not quite sure qualify as human. They're more just mounds of muscle with a head-shaped pimple sticking out.
These same guys don't really walk as much as they do lurch from place to place.
There are some cute women working out, some not so cute, and some who look like escapees from the East German army. They, too, are questionably human, or at least questionably female. I swear I'm not being sexist, but when I have to look three times to verify that they are women and not just another roid jock with Meat-Loaf-in-Fight-Club bitch tits, something is wrong.
Why do gyms insist on lining every wall and support column with mirrors? The whole reason why I and so many others are coming here is because we don't like what we see in the mirror; I don't need a reminder of my pipestem arms and garbage gut at every turn.
Finally, I have no problem with the locker room scene. As a guy, I learned at an early age that when there are that many naked dudes around, your eyes should never, EVER drop below waist level. However, I forgot how much of a shock it is when some octogenarian strips down right next to you, and you're reminded of the ravages of time and gravity.
I actually would have still been at the gym, but during my absence, they changed the Sunday hours. They now close at 6:00 instead of 8:00 on the weekends. I guess next week, I'll have to go right after Mass and skip the Sunday afternoon movie.