by Max Mauney

Gymatorium: Selected Short Stories of Self-Loathing v.2.5.1

(optional install - version 3.0 release date TBA)

Caleb had paid for the damn two-year membership sixteen months ago, but he had stepped into the fitness center less than a dozen times since then.

“Today’s the day,” he decides aloud. “I’m going in!”

Upon entering Wellness Through Fitness gym, Caleb waves his membership card underneath the scanner mounted on the front desk. The scanner’s red light beams down, reads the card’s barcode, and forwards the information to the Dell PC connected to it. The computer instantly searches its database and, once it recognizes a valid membership, flashes a perky “Welcome!” message across its monitor. Upon seeing the bright green prompt flashing on the screen, the muscular young attendant behind the desk greets Caleb by muttering, “Wha’sup, man.” His attention and his gaze are only momentarily diverted from the computer where he is absorbed in Instant Messages and Facebook© pages. Caleb’s grunt of recognition goes unnoticed.

Unsure of what to do with his WTF membership card and car key, Caleb improvises a solution using the drawstring of his shorts. Like most of his gym shorts, this pair has no pockets. Caleb fumbles with the string but finally manages to slip it through the holes of the key and the card. He ties the string into a bow to prevent either item’s escape, then positions the key and card under the waistband of the shorts.

Now facing the main area of the gym, Caleb is overwhelmed by the plethora of treadmills, stair climbers, and stationary bikes. Where to begin? He pauses momentarily to survey the myriad of cardiovascular and muscle-toning machinery and adopts a contemplative expression to attempt to conceal his bewilderment. He randomly chooses a recombent bicycle and makes his move. Making his approach, Caleb becomes suddenly and painfully aware that all eyes are on him. He reassures himself that his is overreacting. “Any time someone enters a room, people involuntarily glance at the person. It’s natural curiosity,” he thinks to himself. “Besides, you know how paranoid you are about folks staring at you. You’re being too sensitive.”
Somehow, the situation is different this time; today it is worse.
The stares of the muscle-heads, who are busy pumping barbells up and down, burn into Caleb. He feels the discomfort and disdain coming from the wiry ladies pounding the treadmills.

“I know I’m outta shape, but come on,” he wanted to say. “I paid to come here too!”
Instead, he decides to seek refuge somewhere he can regroup and attempt his entrance again. Making a mid-course correction to his route, Caleb turns from the rowing machine for which he was headed and redirects towards the men’s locker room. As luck would have it, his safe haven is inconveniently located on the opposite side of the building.

Assuming his usual posture, Caleb hangs his head and stares purposefully at the floor three feet ahead of him. Occasionally sneaking a glance from the corner of his eye, he confirms the other were, indeed, gawking.

“It’s not like everyone here is a super model,” he grumbles to himself and pushes open the door to the men’s room.

Alas, no solace is found in the changing area either. Once more, Caleb is aware that everyone is staring. Now, he can hear the whispers and low tones of conversation as he schleps past benches, bags, and half-dressed men.
“You know, there really should be a separate dressing area for their type.”
“I’m with ya, man. That’s disgusting. No one should be forced to look at that.”
“Disgusting freak!”

Caleb fumes. “My god, they act as if I’m not even a human,” he says lowly. “Jesus Christ. I’m still a human. So what if don’t – or won’t ever – look like you, jocks. I came from the algae-covered, shallow end of the gene pool. Back off!” As Caleb becomes worked up by feelings of injustice and prejudice, his voice grows louder and louder.
“I’d better calm down,” he thinks. “Otherwise one of the hairless, Abercrombie twits will come over here and start some shit with me.”
Caleb walks over to the bank of sinks, hoping no one was admiring himself in the wall of mirrors. Caleb picks a sink, turns on the faucet, and begins splashing the cool water on his face. As he pulls his face away from the double handful of water, he catches his profile reflected back. He stands in disbelief, mouth hanging open and water dripping from his face and hands. Each of his thousands of dumbfounded reflections sports the same awkward bulge in the front of his pocketless gym shorts.

Caleb had known that his key and WTF card slipped from underneath the waistband and were swinging back and forth on the drawstring inside his shorts. However, he only now realized that the key/card combo created quite a noticeable tent in the vicinity of his groin. Aligned end to end, the two items were rather sizable and protruded at a most unfortunate angle.