Man! Working out stinks!

Running shoes and workout clothes in hand, I made my way routinely to the women’s locker room to gear up for my usual Wednesday workout class. It started like any other workout—a few crunches, a heightened heart rate, but wait…what’s this…?...an extremely tall man next to me with an outfit that exposed more “guy thigh” than anyone could swallow. Bonus!: the three-and-a-half feet of exposed legs were covered in dark, curly hair…more hair than was on the combined heads of the other men in the class...(yes, there were about five other men). It was all downhill from there. What else surrounded me that could threaten my up-chuck reflexes?!?!?! Then, the call came—the next exercise was set--something I would never wish upon my most violent enemy; We all lined up along the mirrored walls, strung the handled exercise bands over the mounted handrails (technically called “barres”), took our stances and began rowing. To my left, the towering man with his shorts reaching the height of my hips at their lowest point. To my right, another man who may not have towered over me as greatly as the other, but who still added to my suddenly dwarfed appearance. There I was, silently rowing--back and forth, back and forth—as these two sweaty men huffed and puffed their way through the rowing intervals. Starring myself straight in the eye as I locked my gaze on my mirrored face, the smell of sweaty gym socks ripening as I rowed wafted through the air. My gaze became more fixed on the mirror, uncertain about the obvious disaster developing on either side of me; I struggled to maintain my squat, my space, and my serene expression as the smell worsened and the fan blew sweaty air around the room. The trainer called time not a moment too soon. Keeping my composure, I walked back to “my” spot and tried to soak up the air after convincing myself that it was more sanitary than the rest, which clearly has been contaminated by sweaty “work-outers”. I existed in this state of mind for the remainder of the class only to be grossed out momentarily by the puddles of sweat dotting the scuffed wood floors of the room. Most people will warn you, when working out in a gym, to wipe down the machines after you’ve used them, to bring your own water, and/or to use shower flip-flops; I’m here to warn you otherwise: Watch out for the un-deodorized man next to you who, post work-out, is ready to enter a wet t-shirt contest. Come prepared with hand sanitizer—a gallon of it should do.