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I’M SORRY; I DON’T HAVE A %&$!
Dominique rings in with some thoughts from the gym...
I’M SORRY; I DON’T HAVE A PENIS.
That doesn’t mean that I don’t have a brain.
It certainly doesn’t mean that I don’t understand fitness. I’m not here to proselytize about girl power. I don’t want to stand on Rosie the Riveter’s shoulders, I just want to be left alone when I’m doing clean and jerks at the gym.
Thanks, but I know what I’m doing. I appreciate your desire to help, but sincerely: FUCK OFF. I see you watching me do rows so you can come over to me and tell me that I shouldn’t squat while I do that exercise: “it’s easier if you sit.” If I wanted to do something easy, I would have stayed in bed until 9am.
Seriously guy, would you give that advice to Tommy Tattoo or the man they call Big Vinny? Would you tell that 300 pound, no-necker in the back of the gym that he needs to bend his legs more when he’s doing deadlifts? Would explain to him that he should be doing cable cross-overs THIS way and would you show him the targeted muscle groups by touching his sweaty back? I don’t think so.
 Firstly, I know where my deltoids are. Secondly, even before you voluntarily traced it on my back, I knew that there were three different parts; and yeah, I knew which of those parts I was training.
 So if you don’t do this to Mike the Cop why do you do it to me? I’m not asking for it. I’m not here to look pretty. I’m hot, I’m sweaty, and I don’t even have all of my toenails.
Is that sexy? Probably not. Delicate? Hardly. I might look cute in spandex, but I’m not wearing spandex because I want you to check out my ass. I have an iPod in my ears so that I’ll be left alone. I’m here for one reason and it isn’t to get your stupid telephone number; so don’t try to strike up a conversation by asking me what sport I play: “you’re tall, but you don’t look like a volleyball player and you don’t have big legs like a soccer player... what are you?” I’m a distance runner, asshole, and I don’t play. I’m here so I can get stronger, faster, and yeah: “a little bit bigger for summer”—but not just for summer, this is my lifestyle.
Let’s be honest, if I was another guy who was 130, or 300 pounds, or 6 feet tall, or 5’4” you would ask before you worked into one of my sets, you wouldn’t giggle if I made a mistake at first, and you wouldn’t tell me what good form I have. So let me be. I’ll leave you to your enhanced apple juice, you leave me to my squats—because after all, isn’t squatting what separates men and women?
So fellas, I’m sorry I’m one of those people who don’t have a penis, but I still have a pretty little brain. So thanks for the advice, but really, that’s ok.
 
Dominique Ficalora is an adjunct professor of the written word at a college or two on Long Island and has a shiny new bike from Sunrise Tri.
All Contents Copyright © 2008 Rich Barkan, MetroTri.com |
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