The Gym

I’m one of those fitness dudes who has discovered through trial and error of having a preference belonging to a gym for my strength and conditioning training.

I’ve done the backyard, basement and garage thing closer to home and, while I admit it’s possible to get and stay in tip-top shape training in those confines, I like to take a hike and go to the gym.

Maybe because going there is more than just a fitness training battlefield for me in my middle-aged man war against the perils of aging.  Maybe I get something out of it socially, much like a person who goes to a golf course or bowling alley to play their game with others.

Not that I’m a drama king social butterfly while there but I do have several chums who I look forward to seeing and engaging with them in exchanges of courtesies like wise-guy comments and one-liners while trying to be the gym clown.

Maybe a reason I like going to my gym is because I spend much time in my work alone and thirst for social interaction.  After all, going to a gym beats going to a stinking bar.

Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter because I do my fitness training at a gym.  I have 24-hour access to mine.  No it’s not one of them 24 Hour Fitness meat market gyms that are always crowded like a busy New York City street in downtown Manhattan. 

Mine is a real gym with barbells and dumbbells (and lots of them) and people capable of loading them up with heavy weights and lifting them high and low. 

There’s much to be learned watching the serious ones do their thing.  Hopefully, some of them learn a thing or two watching me do my thing.

So my gym is rightfully named The Gym; it’s a name very easy to remember.

Whether in the middle of day, after work or on a Saturday afternoon, when I need to tame my beast, I’ll grab my gym bag and head to The Gym.

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum