It seems like everybody goes to the gym now.
Gay men, anyway.
Seems like every time I meet someone new who is gay, at some point I get asked what gym I go to.
At first I was flattered by it, thinking it was a compliment. But I have come to realize in the gay community it’s just one of those questions you ask. Like when Southerners ask what church you go to.
I play basketball, though.
That and a being naturally skinny have kept me in decent shape.
I tried the gym for a while several years back. But it just wasn’t me.
The act of picking up heavy things, putting them down, then picking them up again for no reason1 bores me to tears.
I’m no stranger to labor and heavy lifting. But it’s got to be for a purpose.
The five gallon buckets need to go to the second floor, for example.
I’m the same way about running.
The Attorney runs several miles most every day.2
And I think, “Why? What’s chasing you?”
Something like running with the bulls, I get.
Well, actually, no. I get running from the bulls. You better run or you’re dead.3
Although it seems a bit foolish to me to put yourself in their path in the first place.
I guess many people find basketball equally pointless.
But it’s a game. So, it’s fun.
And getting in shape is a side-effect.
Most of you know I have always wanted to have meaty chest and an ass.
Not a huge amount in either case. Just enough that I don’t basically disappear when I turn side ways.4
All the running and jumping in basketball still hasn’t give me an ass. It’s probably just not in the cards for me. So, I should just let that dream go.
But, basketball, itself, doesn’t give you pecs.
Which is why I’m thinking of joining a gym.
I’m less than 18 months from hitting 40.5
I figure the window of opportunity to be able to fill out one of my T-shirts is starting to close.
Or maybe I just ask The Attorney for implants for my 40th.