The Five People You Meet at the Gym

Living in California had convinced me to no longer pay for a gym membership, since so many days had weather that permitted me to exercise in the great outdoors. I've hiked in Yosemite, Big Basin, along the Bay, numerous state and county parks, Monterey, Santa Cruz, near the Pacific Ocean, and even alongside protected wetlands. Heck, I also regularly walked to the grocery store, farmers market, and drugstore in Mountain View to run errands, burning calories in the process.

I kept this routine up even after moving back to Pennsylvania for some time. But after breaking my foot (albeit on a sunny summer day), I realized that I was too klutzy to contend with outdoor exercise once Winter's ice would make an appearance.

Nowadays I sweat my ass off at my local YMCA. It's a great facility and the price is right. And membership provides a host of people-watching opportunities. Some of them interesting, some of them gross, and some like car wrecks you can't help but look at. C'mon, those of you who are also regularly going to the gym know what I'm talking about:

* The folks who dress with so many layers of clothing that you'd think the room is 20 degrees below zero (I swear, I wouldn't be surprised if they sported a scarf one of these days)

* The gal who is always on the ultra-bouncy step machine, yet has failed to embrace the concept of a sports bra (I keep wondering if she will fracture her jaw; my girls hurt justing looking at her)

* The "Lance Armstrong wannabe" in his aerodynamic spandex pants and long-sleeved turtleneck (Dude, get over yourself, and you look stupid in those pants -- it's the YMCA, not the Tour de France)

* The woman who bought herself some new workout clothes at least 4 sizes too small (Sorry, but too tight clothing looks worse than being overweight, no matter how little or much you weigh! Remember, girlfirend, my often quoted advice of "just because you can fit into it . . . don't mean you should wear it!")

* The world's palest white guy, sporting an overgrown afro, strapped in place by a headband that is eerily reminiscent of Bjorn Borg. If that isn't bad enough, the same guy is always wearing corduroy shorts that are in desperate need of additional material (think Bill Clinton's jogging shorts).

That's who works out at my gym. Who works out at yours?