Don't Take Me To The Gym

By Erin Gloria Ryan | May 8, 2011 | 8:36pm

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Oh, god, is he getting his gym bag? Is he making a protein shake?

Fuck, he’s going to go to the gym, isn’t he? I hope he doesn’t take me with him.

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Don’t get me wrong; I love working out. There are few things I like more than pounding the pavement for a few miles and then hitting the weights and really appreciating how strong my body is but Christ, do I hate going to the gym with him.

I simply cannot stand to be around him when he’s taking himself that seriously, grunting and struggling futilely against a metal barbell, eyefucking himself in the mirror, wagging his eyebrows at the lesbian female trainer with the muscular ass and no interest in his penis. The other day he said some shit about how the gym is his “church” and I was like, What? I thought church was your church. Then he told me to shush and that I look really pretty when I’m upset and that girls are no good at metaphors. What the fuck? Maybe the gym is your little heaven, but being there with him is my hell.

Here are six reasons that going to the gym with him is completely intolerable-

I can’t look at the guys lifting weights and lament my being stuck with this clown instead of that trainer with the nice calves who smiled at me that one time I was doing pull ups.
Let’s face it: the presence of attractive men combined with the endorphins of exercise combined with the testosterone boost that lifting weights gives makes me just about want to hump the bench press.

The gym is full of men making the same types of sounds that they probably make while having sex. Meanwhile, Rabbi WorshipsHisPecs over here in the Church of Self Absorption can’t stop looking at that lesbian and her partner and wagging his eyebrows.

Dude, you look like Charlie Chaplin. Stop.

He’ll Distract Me
It’s a fact that women have higher pain tolerance than men. As such, some might argue that our bodies are more suited for long distance running than men’s bodies are. Every time he stands there by the treadmill sighing loudly while he waits for me to finish up my last couple of miles, my soul dies a little.

Just let me run, please.

He Will Keep Trying To Explain Things To Me That I Already Know
I know how to use the weight machines.

I know how to use the weight machines.

I’m just going to tell him one more time, because I’ve already told him a thousand times that I know how to use the weight machines. In fact, I’ve demonstrated, multiple times, that I know how to use the weight machines. Shut up about teaching me how to use the weight machines.

He’s So Insecure That He Won’t Let Me Have A Male Trainer
The other day, we were talking about working out, and he suggested I get a trainer to help me “fix the hail damage on my ass,” so I called the gym, and they gave me a list of trainers.

He took one look at the list, and vetoed each one of them.

“They’re guys,” he said, when I asked him why. “They’ll hit on you.”

“But you told me that I’m gross and stinky when I’m at the gym. If you don’t want me when I’ve been working out, then why would they?”

He patted me on the head and asked me if there were any shoes I wanted to buy.

I Can’t Go To The Gym; I Need Time To Pack My Shit And Get Out
God, how did I stay with this asshole for so long? If I had my druthers, I’d use my black belt in martial arts to roundhouse kick his bullshit to oblivion. I want to smash his stupidity like so many layers of bricks.

But I can’t do those things.

Here’s what I can do: break up with this self-obsessed douchebag. He might have big, shiny muscles, but who wants to be with a patronizing mansplainer who couldn’t argue or reason his way out of a wet paper bag and whose very presence during an activity I enjoy is at best a hindrance and at worst face-clawingly annoying? I’m totally taking the Garmin watch; he doesn’t even know how to program it.

I hope he reads this article. Prick.

This article was written in response to an article first published by AskMen, the world’s first blog staffed entirely by trolls who believe life isn’t worth living unless it’s covered with Axe body spray and light domestic beer.
Don’t Bring Her To the Gym [Fox]