Before the existence of 24 Hour Fitness, Gold’s Gym, or Curves, there was this little place called “outside” that people frequented. Membership to this exclusive studio featured oxygen, scenery, and convenient access no matter where on Earth you were. You could get it all for zero dollars a month, and zero dollars in sign-up fees. If you brought a friend, you could both work out for the price of one!
I refuse to join a gym. I think it’s a racket to overcharge people to do what they could do for free, and I don’t enjoy letting strangers see my body jiggling well after I’ve stopped moving. Other reasons I hate fitness factories:
- Having to wipe off someone else’s swamp ass from the equipment
- Possibility of catching a foot fungus in the shower, forcing me to remove one of my toes, and become off-balance for the rest of my life
- Witnessing guys staring at themselves in the mirror while lifting weights
- Looking like Gollum on the treadmill while the girl with the full face of makeup next to me barely breaks a sweat
- Watching people Facebook “gettin’ my workout on!” while bicycling slower than a sleepy toddler on a tricycle
- Hearing the kind of grunting that should only come from women in labor
- Feeling embarrassed for that one guy who thinks it’s okay for dudes to use elliptical machines
- Smelling “Hansel & Gretel” body odor, the trail of stinky destruction left by a member as he/she travels around the machines
I must confess, there is one other reason I don’t like them. One huge reason.
Many years ago, I had a friend who begged me to join a gym with her. She had no intention of getting in shape, and every intention of stalking spying on running into a guy she liked who worked out there. Reluctantly, I agreed. Well, it wasn’t so much that I agreed as it was being disoriented by the blaring techno music, and lack of circulation due to an ill-fitting sports bra. (Scientific fact: no matter how tight your bra is, if your breasts are larger than a C-cup, they will flop around while running, putting you at risk of biting off your tongue.)
Artist’s rendition of my breasts during a workout
I received two free personal training sessions as part of my membership, and the overly perky girl at the front desk insisted I book my first appointment right away. “Like, it’s great. It’s totally free and awesome and you’ll learn how to use the machines and the trainers are cool and REDBULLFUCKYEAH.” I went along with it because who wouldn’t give into someone who managed to secure a neon green leotard after 1987?
I showed up for my first session expecting to get a dim bulb with a tree trunk neck who’d say things like, “No pain no gain!” What I received was a special delivery from the heavens above. A fog machine went off, time slowed down, and Heart’s “Magic Man” played as the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on approached me.
I’ve never been the kind of woman who easily attracts a man; in fact, I’d have an easier time convincing the Westboro Baptist Church to elect RuPaul as their leader than I would convincing a man to go on a date with me. Something about my face as well as my tendency to reference Anchorman really puts them off.
My favorite line of any movie ever
Knowing this, you can imagine I handled meeting a man created in the image of every woman’s fantasy with class and dignity.
Me: “Hi you guy. Me machine use. My cat’s breath smells like cat food.”
Hot Trainer: “Nice to meet you! Are you ready for a workout?”
Me: “My panties are getting a workout, dropping to the floor.”
HT: “Why don’t you go ahead and lay down on that mat over there.”
Me: “Right here in front of everyone? Well, okay. Be gentle. Just kidding, you can spank me if you want to.”
Sadly, he only wanted me to stretch. I did my best to twist my body in ways that signaled I was fluent in the Kama Sutra, and he complimented me on how limber I was.
HT: “Wow, you’re pretty flexible.”
Me: “So are my morals.”
He was being incredibly charming, and I began formulating a breakup speech I’d give to my boyfriend as soon as I got home. I determined, given our obvious chemistry, that proposing marriage to my new love at the end of our session would be appropriate.
All the seks
After I was stretched out, he had me do a fitness test. I ran on the treadmill, knocked out some pushups, completed a vertical jump test, and wall sat like a boss. I was wiped out, but he said we still needed to test my core muscles.
I figured that it would be a breeze, all I’d have to do is sit on the floor and lift myself up a few times. I came out swinging, but he was dissatisfied with my technique. My feet were doing something he didn’t like so he got on the floor and held them down.
I was determined to prove my physical prowess so I really pushed myself. Push. Push. Push. Push. He was happy with my form. I was happy that he was happy. My abs were happy that I was using them for something other than a resting spot for my beer. You know who wasn’t happy? My intestines.
See, the thing I didn’t know was that working out isn’t just for your outside, it’s also for your inside. You know when you pick up a rock, and realize you’ve disturbed an entire ecosystem living beneath it? The fitness test had disturbed my internal rock.
I farted. In his face. A wet, I’m-drunk-and-just-ate-Taco-Bell kind of fart. There was absolutely no way of playing it off because I had nearly blown a hole right through to China. With high ceilings and an open floor plan, it was the fart heard ’round the world.
I looked down at his face, and it was a mixture of pity, horror and disgust. I ran out of there in a way that only someone being chased by a knife-wielding psycho would run. I never booked my second session.
I sent him this to apologize for assaulting his senses
When I’ve told people this story, they always console me by claiming that it really isn’t that bad. It’s definitely embarrassing, but not something I should agonize about over 10 years later. I ask them to imagine meeting their soulmate, and then practically shitting on his face.
I learned three very important lessons that day. The first is that you don’t need to be cut deeply to die a little on the inside, a flesh wound can kill you all the same. The second is that the “love of your life” may eventually become someone you couldn’t pick out of a lineup. The last is a far more important lesson, and the reason you won’t find me in a gym— the anal acoustics are much more forgiving outside.
Sips of Jen and Tonic 
I. Am. Crying. At. Gymnastics. People think I am nutso. That was motherf**king awesome! I did that to an OBGYN once. You’ll never fully forgive yourself, but HELL YEAH! it was funny!
That’s gutsy. Farting in the face of the person who has a metal duck bill up your hoo hoo.
I was mortified, to say the least. Sure, he’d probably seen worse… But smelled worse? I dare so, ‘no.’ There was nothing in the hoo-haw at the time. LM(stinky)AO!
omg… I would have died. Just died… well you did the right thing to run away. I won’t even try to console you because there isn’t anything that can undo that. So sorry. Trying not to laugh because it is totally funny if it didn’t happen to you. LOL LOL LOL LOL Very fun post Jen. 🙂
On the upside, I ran so fast that I burned off a couple of extra calories. I celebrated by eating Jack in the Box tacos!
Hilarious. You have made me feel better about every gym fart I have ever ripped simply because they were not IN THE FACE of a personal trainer. And, you have reaffirmed to me that Personal Trainer is a shitty job choice. 🙂
It is, right along with Proctologist, Gynecologist, and the person who changes the sanitation box in women’s restrooms.
🙂
That was hilarious, I’m still laughing! If it makes you feel any better I farted in my yoga class. 25 meditating hippies and *fart*
“I call this pose Fart Salutation”
I saw the fart coming. I knew it was coming, but I kept wishing it would be something else! Oh Jen. Your intestines clearly don’t want you to live happily ever after!
This story was more suspenseful than watching “Jaws” for the first time.
OMG. Funniest thing I’ve read in months.
*does the harlem shake*
Oh, gawd. You poor thing. It sounds like something that would happen to me. In fact, it does, but the only one around who hears the gas explosion is my son and he doesn’t count.
When I was little, I used to fart nearly every time I sneezed my gigantic sneezes. My family teased me mercilessly. To this day, I’m still afraid of ripping one when I sneeze.
I love fart stories on a Friday morning.
Isn’t the whole reason to have children so you can fart on someone and laugh about it?
Yes, but he’s in those “sensitive” late teens/early 20s years where nothing I do is cool, which includes ripping farts on him. I don’t get it. I mean, Maya laughs at it.
Working out always gives me gas, but it’s those silent, odorless ones. So I let ’em rip.
I’m a member of outside as well as living room in addition to my gym. Sometimes though, the stairmaster just beats the stairs, the treadmill is kinder than the sidewalk, and the stationary bike beats risking being hit by a car. Plus, I’m an elliptical lover.
How do you manage to contain the smells and sounds of your bowels? Mine sneak up on me, like a mugger, robbing me of my dignity.
This was brilliant, and hilarious, and embarrassing. I laughed the whole way through. Love the rock/ecosystem analogy. I still go to the gym – but I keep everything very tightly controlled.
Just be careful. If you hold it in too long, your next burp will taste like your rectum.
Holy. Who even thinks of that? Are you speaking from experience?
Uhhhhhh…no, of course not.
bah ha ha
I love you, Jen. Seriously. We need to hang out. Outside, of course.
The only thing worse than the gym you describe is the university gym, where everyone is not only in perfect shape, but they always have been, plus they’re 10-15 years younger, perky as hell, privileged, and snotty. I just think about what’s going to hit them in a few years, after kids and their 30th birthdays, and smile a Mona Lisa smile in gleeful cattiness.
BTW, serious, functional sports bras do exist, and they are a revelation! You MUST find a local specialty lingerie store – as in sizes to fit all bodies, 28-56 bands and AAA-JJ cups – and look for the brands Freya and Fantasie. They’re worth every penny and the hassle to search them out and get properly sized. I’m currently wearing a CoolMax Fantasie sports bra (for yoga) that not only fits comfortably but demobilizes and supports without restricting breathing even a tiny bit. It also doesn’t merge my flesh into a uni-boob – so it even looks good.
I promise to let you walk in front of me if we hang out one day.
I need to look into this bra thing because, honestly, it just to a point where I’d let them flop around like two fish out of water. Sexy, I know, but not good for my back.
And this is why I love you, Jen. Also you used Martin’s line in an early episode of the Simpsons…
I concur too – I like to incorporate my workout into my day – except for my deranged addiction to hot yoga, which I could either do in a studio or in my car in the middle of summer with or without the windows rolled up (it’s Tucson – we’re all dying in 100+ degrees).
I also think hot yoga is one of those places where you could wet fart, and nobody would care.
I’ll admit this here – I had to leave the hot room for the first time EVER last night b/c I was getting over the stomach flu and had eaten something with sorbitol (sugar alcohol which my stomach hates) and once we went to the floor series – I had some serious pain – and I was not going to go that route in the hot room…
Good call. Fart = acceptable. Shart = reason to find another studio. Crapping your pants = time to give up on life.
It was not anything like that – luckily… it would have been fart… if anything beyond that happened – instant hari kari….
Someone caught that! +100 points for you.
Also from the Martin vault: “I bent my Wookie” and “Supernintendo Chamers!” –
This is my current quote on my work emails
“I’ve never felt so accepted in all my life.
These people looked deep within my soul and assigned me a number based on the order in which I joined”
– Homer Simpson
That’s why I like to run outside…alone.
Cathy,
You’re a jogger? I take everything I said against joggers back. Ever.
Le Clown
Le Clown,
I’m a runner. Joggers spend most of their energy bouncing up and down slowly, instead of moving forward at a fast clip. Maybe that’s why you don’t like them? And thanks for the compliment!
Cathy
You don’t jog? How do you keep your lusty physique?
Breaking wind, and breaking hearts. That’s how you roll.
🙂
I’m so sorry for laughing at this, but start to finish it is the best thing I’ve read today! I hate the gym too, but I continue to pay for my membership each month. Just in case…
I think we continue to pay because it just sounds terrible saying, “Yes, my fitness doesn’t matter to me and I’d like my money back.”
This is exactly why I hate the gym. I fear flatulence in front of the beautiful people. Actually I hate it because I feel awkward not knowing what to do with the machines. The only reason I joined was for classes. and those bitches are hard to make when you work in the city and live in the suburbs.
It’s also impossible not to look stupid on certain machines when you’re not in top physical shape. And totally agreed about it being hard to get to classes. It’s a test in willpower.
OMG… I’m crying laughing lol! Great blog for Friday 🙂
Wet farts do seem fitting for a Friday.
Um… EXCUSE ME?!?!?!
Well, you DID have gallbladder surgery…
Jen,
It’s posts like this one that gets you nominated for blog awards and puts you on the front page. This one needs to be pushed to the top. You are so funny and awesome!
Red
Thanks, Red! And thanks for the FP nod. My goal is to educate the world on all of my bodily functions one post at a time.
HAHAHAHA! This is absolutely hilarious.
But, this post has some kind of weird karma attached to it. I was just reading it on my phone under the table at a big meeting (because its an important work email, obviously) and, when I hit your life-altering fart, I involuntarily emitted an out-of-control loud snort.
Yep, I just snorted. In a conference room full of 10 people. While one of my bosses was speaking. I just pretended like it didn’t happen. And then I faked a coughing fit to cover it up. I don’t think that really worked, but at least I didn’t let out a beer & burrito fart?
Lesson learned — do not do sit-ups or read J&T in public.
There is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of! What boss doesn’t want to hear about sharting when he’s in the middle of an important speech on possible layoffs?
LOL Jen, I can totally see why you wouldn’t like gyms. And you are so right, sometimes seemingly “little” events can really affect a person.
Also, outside really is the best place to exercise. That and the dance floor for me, are my favourites. Crank up the Bee Gees.
Wait, you do fitness routines to “How Deep Is Your Love”?
I love that song. All disco in fact. You’d like working out with me. I don’t care about farts. And it’s always a party. I do like going outside. Just not in the freezing cold, though living in Ottawa, I really should learn to enjoy skating and skiing.
I second what was already said – hilarious! And it’s a good point that we can do a lot of that for free!
Sure, you can’t look like a jerk who bikes and bikes and bikes, but never gets anywhere, but you CAN look like someone who knows how to put one foot in front of another until they find a Burger King.
Jen, you are hilarious. I laughed out loud multiple times while reading this.
YES! *fist pump*
Ha! Yet another reason to hate the gym: psycho contracts you can’t get out of without an act of God. That was great. I mean not for you, but for us. I am deathly afraid of letting out a big one in yoga class because all that twisting and what not tends to activate those intestines as well and, er – well at least I don’t have to worry about any hot men being caught dead there.
Whatever lawyer is writing those contracts is the greatest legal practitioner in the world.
Oh man. This is probably the funniest thing I’ve ever read.
I refuse to join our newly built YMCA, because I’m not going to pay someone to run. I can run outside….or just not at all.
Just pretend you’re in a lot of debt, and a creditor is coming after you.
You better be running- you’re gonna die on June 8th….
I’ll be okay…
What is this infamous June 8th date about?!
5k Mudd Run in Oklahoma.
Ohhhhhh, that’s awesome! I did one a couple of years ago, and they’re really fun.
Nicely done! You’ve convinced me never to join another gym. Especially since the 8 or 9 times I’ve joined one has never lasted more than three months.
I’m convinced the entire fitness industry is built on recurring sign up fees for people who drop off after a few months.
Hilarious! If that happened to me, I would also never set foot in a gym again, either! But I won’t anyway. I also hate gyms. There is nothing like going to gym, driving around for 20 minutes to find parking, getting dressed in installments and then waiting for another 10 minutes to use a stationary bike to work up a sweat in, like 1 minute, to put me off exercise for months!
By the time you’ve finally gotten in the place, your heart rate is so high from all the rage it’s like a workout anyway. Maybe that’s my new fitness place, just attempt to get inside of a gym.
Absolutely priceless jen. I laughed like a drain
Laughed like a drain? I didn’t realize plumbing enjoyed standup.
Aaah. What we have here is a failure to communicate. This may help
There are three more in this series, and more to come.
The gym fart story was a belter, though.
I figured it was a language barrier! I worked with a British woman for several years, and one of the phrases I picked up (and often confuse people with) is, “On your bike!”