Dec 23 2011
Quest for a gym
So the story should be simple, but for one reason or another it is not. Meet J, the owner of an unconventional gym in the city of Houston. We agreed on a 5.30 pm appointment, which I was early for. I grabbed a quick cup of coffee while the15-minute interval between arrival and meeting passed, and only delayed my appearance at his door by five minutes. By then, he was already on his smartphone, having a peculiar and revealing conversation with a friend or client…who knows? My girlfriend has by now given me extensive training on the boundaries of privacy in America (at least by her own standards), so I know better than to eavesdrop on other people’s talk. However, what can you do when you are standing on the sidewalk waiting for an Asian-lookingman the same height as you to walk you through his gym and he is on the phone singing himself praises?
By the time he was done — about ten or fifteen minutes after I had arrived and stood silently before him counting clouds in the Houston sky — I had finished my coffee and was holding the plastic to-go container in my right hand, glancing around me for a garbage can which I would fail to find, even after our one-hour interview. He introduced himself — or maybe I did, because he probably thinks he needs no introduction — and he sent the first missile. The whole thing (mind you, still on the sidewalk looking into the gym) was Russian KGB with almond-shaped eyes. What do you do? Where do you live? Where are you from? Of course he had been in the oil and gas industry as a business development manager. He could not stop speaking about himself and how cool he was, even when he was 50 pounds heavier and a drinker and smoker back in the day when he probably was happy. He had been certified in all areas known to man, had sucked up all the books you might need to read in a lifetime to find out when to eat beans, and was of course the only person in the world who knew how you should exercise. He had tried all other gyms which, of course, could not compare to his barebones warehouse in a trendy area of town.
I knew it was a bad idea not to tell him that I had a severe case of loose sphincters and needed to go home, or that perhaps I had a plane to catch I had completely forgotten about. We went inside the gym, which was indeed a warehouse with tires and no equipment, just hand-made rubber elements that you may use to exercise but did not look like you would. The place was a Les Luthiers for body-builders, and he showed me around until we got to the coolest place in the whole warehouse…the restroom. He claimed he strove for excellence and he was pretty confident he succeeded at it. If people did not join his gym, they probably were not worth it…
In a forty-year life span, if therapy and being an Argentine citizen have not allowed me to lead a better life, at least they have given me tools to read addicts and people who are too much to deal with in any environment. It is my duty to put up with them at work, but my choice to have them in my extra-hours. J may be the coolest guy on earth to people whose self-esteem is either higher than his or so low that they won’t notice he is a fake. At least, my self-esteem is about average, and I know he is an addict. You can pick your addiction…wine, cigarette, sex or workouts. I think when you switch addictions, you become a purist of the impossible, and life becomes a boring succession of days in which you are not addicted to what society praises…a major reason to think you are indeed cool.
Yes, I admire J, because he could replace addictions and get a few people to buy his time for $300 per month to attend a gym with no equipment and just a restroom. I admire him because during the course of a full hour he was unable to offer me a recycling-friendly bin where I could throw my empty coffee cup. I am sure he is going to do well in a society where success is all that matters, even if it is a lie and underneath the surface you are as dysfunctional as the fat guy next door. It is always good to be the living example of The Biggest Loser and boast how you beat the odds and stayed outside them. However, when you close the door of your expensive high-rise condo at night, switch on the energy-saving lights of your living room and pour yourself that glass of Evian…isn’t there something missing?
