The gym . . . some observations

My adventures in the "real" world continue. I went to the gym tonight at a "normal" hour (7 p.m. instead of my usual 9:30-10-just as it's closing routine) and boy was it fun to watch the people there at that time.

I go to this ridiculously, fancy-pants gym downtown. At my usual time, I tend to just see other lawyers who read their crackberries on the treadmill, or the Wall Street Journal while lifting weights. It's a sad sight, but these are my people, so I feel at home.

Tonight though, I observed some distinctly different "types" I hadn't previously seen there and I was struck by the different "gym fashion" choices. I recently was in New York and went to a franchise location there. In NYC, the style of choice was cult-chic. Apparently, New Yorkers are loathe to carry around a gym bag with their own clothes, so the gym provides them as a courtesy. All a New Yorker needs to carry is a pair of sneakers and a change of underwear (they don't really do their hair there either, apparently that only happens in New Jersey). I wasn't previously told about this quirk, so people stared at me as I walked in wearing -- gasp -- my own clothes!

Back in my city tonight, I was first struck by the men in muscle shirts and the ladies who love them. Apparently it's quite popular for couples to go to the gym together. I don't really understand this. For me, gym time is personal time - I can do my thing, sweat and not worry about what I look like or if someone else is judging how hard I'm trying that day. But I digress. The muscle shirt men are funny. They strut around like peacocks, all very proud of themselves.

There are a lot of women "there to impress" at that hour too. Hair done in cute "gym-dos," matching outfits; make-up freshly applied. I don't get this either. I'm well known for spending time getting ready (does Russian River ring a bell for any you folks?), but to go to the gym?! Really?! Seriously, what is the point?!

Euroman was another new addition to the cocktail hour gym-going set. Apparently greasy, pony-tails and tight leggings are back . . . somewhere . . . maybe FHM is perpetrating this don't.

Of course there was also the usual cadre of old men, clearly there under doctor's orders to drop 20 or face an early death via heart attack. They like to work out in knee-highs. And old sneakers. Mostly though they spend a lot of time looking at the machines, and watching the mini-television monitors hooked to each.

As for me, well, I observed in my usual adidas-sponsored look (if adidas dressed and sponsored people who usually wear Brooks Brothers and make their public appearances in the courthouse rather than the tennis court) courtesy of my outlet shopping habits. I felt quite superior while making the above observations because I was listening to Lily Allen's new album on my i-pod and I suspected most people there were still stuck on Justin Timberlake's "sexyback." (The last time I had this superior-ish feeling was in High School when I was friends with the theater set and we "discovered" The Cure, Voice of the Beehive, and Erasure before everyone else.)

So that's my tale of the day. Life in the Real World. Post 1.