New Year’s Anti-Resolution

Breathe a sigh of relief everyone, the giant turd sandwich that is 2016 is almost over. But instead of a new year’s resolution, I offer an anti-resolution. For 2017, I’m canceling my gym membership.

For the most part, I have been a regular gym goer for most of my life. I enjoy group classes and general strength routines. However, year after year, the constant stream of terrible people has eroded any enjoyment I get from going to the gym. I wear a sunken hat to hide my eyes. I wear brightly colored earphones as a “leave me the hell alone” sign. I wear blank shirts to hide any affiliation. I stare at the floor between sets. And STILL, people feel the need to insert themselves into my precious “me time.” Drives me insane … and out the door.

You know that guy who hogs a machine by texting on his phone for 5 minutes between sets? Yeah, screw that guy.

You know that girl with giant fake boobs who saunters around the gym vying for attention? Yeah, screw that girl.

You know that guy who power-slams a bar/rack and scares the shit out of everyone? Yeah, screw that guy.

You know that girl who stops working out to take Instagram selfies to show she’s working out? Yeah, screw that girl.

You know that guy who walks around with that “everyone thinks I’m awesome” Hulk stance? Yeah, screw that guy.

Screw the meatheads and their grunting. Screw the loud-talking drama queens and their carefully crafted outfits. Screw the posers who flex at the mirror. Screw the gym bros and their oh-so-subtle bro shirts. Screw the obnoxious thumping “music.” Screw the filthy animals who refuse to acknowledged the handy wipes. I’m done. Done, done, done I say.

Screw the gym. I used to like you, but now you’re a gigantic pain in my crack. As 2017 approaches, I resolve never to set foot inside you again. It’s time to enjoy the outdoors and embrace calisthenics in the silence and comfort of home. My cats may be furry little narcissists, but at least they don’t strut around the house like insecure douchebags.