People of the YMCA

Evidently, I'm under insured when it comes to life insurance. At least that's the conclusion I came to when Carrie put the Kibosh on my pre-dawn runs a couple of weeks ago. At first, I thought I could quiet her concerns by wearing Zoe's blinking, bone-shaped dog tag, but it didn't take. Then it started getting cold. Really cold, the kind of cold that freezes a line of snot from your nose to the back of your neck and makes a grown man voluntarily wear tights in public.

It was at this point that I reconsidered her obvious pleas of love.

However, with the treadmill in need of a new motherboard, my surrender to Carrie's emotions meant frequent dips for me into the vile melting pot that is the YMCA.

I know, I know, I've already posted about this, but having been inspired by www.peopleofwalmart.com I've decided to expand on my YMCA observations in greater detail. However unlike peopleofwalmart.com, I will not be including actual photos of the people I'm mentioning for the simple fact that most of them were lifting heavy objects and, truth be told, I'm not really that fast. So that said, here are some of the people I have seen over the past couple of weeks.

Jon Gosselin on roids
There's actually a couple of these guys at the Y every morning I'm there, each decked out in glittery Ed Hardy T-shirts and matching jackets, MMA "Tap Out" shorts and patent leather Air Jordan's. Their ages are undeterminable given their receding hairlines and leathery fake-baked skin but I would guess they're each pushing 40. Luckily I'm able to view this wrecking crew from behind a wall of glass that separates the track from the weight room, otherwise I'm sure I'd be overcome by the odor of Axe body spray.

The Hanger-on
Even sadder than the ultimate fighters (or as they're known around the office, "the chamois boys") is the guy that follows them around the gym. Looking like Steve Bartman's older brother, this guy rocks a tucked in turtleneck and I have yet to see him left a weight—however he does seem to get in plenty of deep knee bends as he kisses these guys' heavily tattooed asses (I'm assuming they're heavily tattooed based on their arms and necks alone, no visual confirmation needed).

Mr. Pec Dec
No matter when I go to the Y, there's always a guy like this, and upon further thought, it's probably the same guy. He's the one who spends the entire time on one machine, yet like The Hanger-on, never manages to lift a single weight. He's generally an African-American man in his mid 60s, about 75 pounds overweight and more often than not has a toothpick percariously hanging out of one side of his mouth. From the best I can determine his sole reason for being at the gym is to socialize with the ladies and give himself a reason to say "at least I worked out today" when he opens his third box of Little Debbie Swiss Cakes.

Holy Strollers
As the old poster so eloquently stated, the "C" in YMCA doesn't stand for cussing. That said, you tend to get a lot of religious types at the Y. Today, I was joined on the track by two Mennonite women who, after walking several laps kicked it up a couple of notches to a slow jog, their homemade, ankle-length floral skirts flapping wildly behind them. Unfortunately I never got close enough to hear what they were listening to on their iPods … hey, wait a minute.

The White Ghost
No visit to a YMCA is complete without catching a group of over-the-hill white guys playing pick up basketball like it's game seven of the NBA finals. And while they come in all shapes and sizes, they generally share at least a few of these common attributes 1) a goatee 2) at least one form of knee brace 3) shorts made from sweatpants material 4) uncontrollable anger. The group at the Y I go to even come with their own practice jerseys so that they can differentiate team members without having to expose their hairy moobs.

And last but not least.

Grandma Huxtable
It's not always a woman, but walk into any YMCA in the country and you'll find old people working out in their street clothes. Today's sighting consisted of a kindly octogenarian working out in a Mayan inspired fleece sweater and powder-blue sailor hat. But my all-time favorite is a guy I used to see every weekend who looked exactly like Izzy Mandelbaum from Seinfeld—plain white v-neck undershirt drenched in sweat, terrycloth headband and pleated khaki shorts.