5 tortures I face at the gym every goddamn day, thanks to the not-so-incredible hulks
There are just three things that stop me from throwing my dumbbells at them: Their good looks, good looks, and--good looks.
I get all sorts of compliments for slogging my ass off at work, battling traffic for two hours every day, spending time with friends and family, and still by the end of the day exercising at the gym. But I still feel the lack of appreciation in life because chuck the awards and the certificates for career and academic achievements, I deserve a frickin' Oscar for something that no one seems to give me credit for. Yes, I deserve a frickin' Oscar for tolerating guys and their antics at the gym.
Trust me, no torture in the world can be bigger than that of dealing with them morons. No, not even the torture of relatives asking you to get married or a possessive boyfriend questioning your equation even with your male cousins.
In fact, if there comes a day when a genie appears and offers to grant me my wishes, I wouldn't ask for a fortune or any luxury. I'll just ask for an empty gym. Or maybe a gym with five-6 MUTE eye candies.
If you're curious about my absolute hatred for people at the gym, here's a list of tortures that I face every day that'll convince you that I am not foolish in ditching luxuries for an empty gym:
There's this thing about some gym dudes, you know. They make you feel like an actress surrounded by the super-annoying paparazzi. The difference here is just the fact that these paps take photographs not with their overrated DSLR's, but with their god-gifted eyes. And me being on the squat-rack gives them just the perfect shot.
No, they don't stop giving me the celebrity feels just yet. Just because I mind my own business and don't encourage social interactions at the gym, I am Lisa for 30 per cent men at the gym, Akriti for 20 per cent, and Kiara for the rest calculate-yourself per cent of men. If only I could also be Katrina for some. I like her.
The only good part is that some guys are so caring that they make sure I never miss my mother. Because just like her, they keep a tab on every move I make and correct my stance too. Not just that, their unsolicited advice on lifting the right amount of weights, doing the right amount of cardio, and taking the right kind of supplements teaches me the virtue of patience in life. Watching them ditching the dumbbells for their phones to update their Facebook statuses and Snapchat stories and clicking selfies silently adds zing to those patience classes.
Knowingly or unknowingly, I also walk back home with guilt (not really), the guilt of destroying several male egos by lifting heavier weights than certain macho men.
But the bruised male ego responds, it responds by trying to intimidate you by overtaking your machines and that's downright annoying.