The Gym Story

No pictures with this post... But I feel the need to relate my experiences at... the Sky Gym at Nido.

The name, dear readers, is deceiving. It may be on the 33rd floor, but "sky" implies room to spread one's wings and soar. This gymnasium is more "hamster cage with wheel," and about that much equipment.

As is my nature, I walk in and immediately retreat to the most distant corner from other people because proximity means socializing, which I've read can give you cancer. So I hop on a treadmill with a view of the skyline and start running nowhere, iTunes at the ready.

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Then... he came in. We'll call him Mr. European. He was wearing a shirt 6 times too tight for him and designer sneakers. He walked up to a weight-machine-lateral-pull-down-thingy, and started lifting. No big deal. I go back to listening to the Who and looking out the window at the lovely London skyline.

Then Mr. European starts gettin' a little dangerous. He adds some weight - we're lifting half the rack now, oh lordy. Soon, his face contorts in a way the ancients called "constipated" and he screams noises that would offend Chewbacca.

"MMMMEEEEAAAAAARRGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHWHHOOOOOEEEYYYAAHH," roared Mr. European. Then he SLAMS down the bar and struts around the room looking for a female to mate with. None seem to be interested at his plumage. He continues.
"GHEEEEERRAAAARGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" goes this young Arnold as he courageously lifts Superman's paperweight. SLAM goes the bar as he completes... 1 Rep! Still, the females fail to acknowledge his obvious dominance.

He's... probably still up there... almost pooping and yelling like it's his job.

Moral:
The real display of power wasn't Mr. European's peacock-like mating ritual, but rather, a victory on the part of the 130 pound weakling in the room. For I kept my mouth shut and didn't laugh, the entire time.

And that, my friends, is true strength.