Instead of getting a "real" job this summer, I opted to pal around with semi-professional basketball players and co-ordinate their workouts related both to basketball and strength training. Having just finished my first year of law school, I think I can say with a straight face that this is the first job I have actually been over-qualified for. I make sure the guys eat right, touch the baseline during suicides, and get ankles taped before 5 on 5s. Simply put, a marginally well organized nine year old could do what I do. One conspicuous perk, however, is that I get to spend four days per week at the Bally's Total Fitness in King of Prussia. While there, I get to immerse myself in a crowd that I have found to be nothing short of groin-grabbingly hilarious: the early afternoon workout crowd.
What's great about this crowd is that I see the same knuckleheads each day. There is one gentleman who appears to be old enough to be Charles Lindburgh's brother or uncle. Hair comes out of his ears with equal speed, determination, and intensity as from his head. He only uses the rowing machine. My theory is that he is gearing up for an octogenarian tri-athalon, but he is wholly uniterested in biking, swimming, and running. Something tells me he's not only not going to win, he's going to be very confused when he shows up and there are no rowing machines in sight. There is also a look-alike to the father on that Orange County Choppers motorcycle TV show. While I have learned that I am allergic to amoxycillan and penicillin, this gentleman is apparently allergic to sleeves and sleeve accouterments, as evidenced by his extensive tank-top collection. As I see this man do reps of 25 at 225 lbs. at age 60, I can only wonder: has he ever owned a sleeved shirt? I wonder what he attends the opera in? These questions may go forever unanswered, though, because he doesn't make eye contact with me because of my adherence to a sleeved lifestyle.
Another thing that's great about this gym is the MILFs. We all aspire to have a non-working spouse who does nothing than prep herself for "the business" after we return home from work. Let me tell you, the husbands of no less than thirty women who go to this place between 1-3 everyday are living that very dream. Aside from high school seniors, these women are the cream of the crop. It gets absurdly hard for me to jog, or be in mesh shorts at all, frankly, when a gaggle of 30-something year old hardbodies are all stretching each other out before an intense yoga session. As they prance away to their Beemer 3-series while I wait for the lazy players to lolligag to the car 30 mins after we finish, I can only do what any rational man does: memorize their license plate numbers, have Bucky run them later, and eat dinner and breakfast in the bushes by their house for a few weeks and wait.
Everyday, we also get the sports anchor of the NBC 10 team, made famous of late by Bucky on this very blog. I'm not sure what his name is but I have included a photo. The thing that confuses me about his is that he never talks about sports while he's there. Does anyone else find this a little queer? When I hang out with you guys, I ask Buck about busting crime, Tall Man about going green, and Rob about fun games he invents at his desk while a bespecaled Reekie manages my Wellington account. And this guy is a sportscaster for christ sake! What could be more fun than talking Birds with meatheads at the gym? My guess is that he's only in it for the chicks (or, in this case, MILFs) and would probably get lost if any sort of real sports convo was initiated.
In short, my days are pretty boring. There is some good people watching and Q-102 listening, but, on the whole, I just fantasize about MILFs doing their cardio work on my face. If that makes me wrong, that makes you a Commie.
I propose we all go to this Cornhole event on the 28th in Conshohocken. We all love boozing, eating, and playing cornhole, and for $25 we can do all 3 for 3 hours that day.