Gym Opinions

Dearest Rachel –

Unlike you, with your collection so vast that I now have three separate quilts commemorating you and your opinions, friendships and travels, I never put a whole lot of thought into my T-shirts. I had very few things I was suitably passionate about to wear them on my chest, and I despised (and still loathe) having advertisements on them. I’m not about to pay $10-$20 (I suppose I should double that, these days, thanks to inflation, but it’s been so long since I’ve bought any, I don’t know what they cost anymore) to be a walking billboard. Unless it’s something really obscure, or something I really like (or preferably both), I’d just as soon it be blank.

Especially since, the way I use them (particularly at this time of year) is as an undershirt, usually coordinating in color with whatever I might be wearing on top, and those designs would just get in the way.

I’m not a big fan of white ones, as they look too much like undershirts. Letting them peek out from underneath my clothing is roughly the equivalent of having a bra strap showing under an evening gown (which, while I understand has become more acceptable over time, still isn’t exactly considered proper). But we’d been accumulating them from one event or another that we’ve attended or participated in, so there you are. I should probably wear them more frequently, as they would wear out faster that way, but I don’t really like how they look on me.

Yeah… I guess I never told you about what a fashionisto (I think that’s the term, when you’re male) I am about these things. Pretty silly, huh?

My point being, I’m really not thinking that much about what I’m wearing underneath my top layer, except whether it coordinates with it. And ordinarily, there wouldn’t really be any reason to concern myself with that, if it weren’t for the fact that I’ve begun to make a habit of stopping by the gym on my way home from the ‘office.’ There, I need to strip off that outer layer, and swap my jeans out for shorts, both to allow greater freedom of movement, as well as to limit the amount of clothes I ruin each visit with sweat; and after all, it’s the workout that should have me doing so, not the over-bundling of the clothes I’m wearing. Sartorially, I turn into a different person.

And as far as one shirt or another is concerned, I assume everyone else is as wrapped up in their own workout as I am in mind. Sure, I’ve commented to a fellow biker on the stationary machines how it would be nice if, as you pass a competitor on the video screen, you could get some sort of effect of either knocking him over or at least a sense of impact, rather than just passing through them like a ghost, but by and large, there’s not a lot of conversation between folks at the gym. Maybe there would be more if I came there during busier times, but that just makes the equipment less available; I’m sticking to this routine – although it still feels strange that I’m doing it so much more frequently than I’d intended, perhaps to make up for the fact that I can’t bring myself to maintain that level of energy for more than an hour.

And that’s another thing where I sort of assumed that it wouldn’t matter so much what I was wearing, in terms of a T-shirt; I’m not there long enough for people to really notice, or at least I didn’t think so. If they’re focused on their workout, and I’m focus on mine, is anyone really going to pay that much attention to what others are wearing? That is, aside from the tight tank top and yoga leggings favored by the few females that spend their time on the treadmills and ellipticals…?

Okay, maybe I’ve answered my question. Trust me, if you were still here, I wouldn’t be looking. Then again, I’d probably not be there in the first place, so it’s a moot point.

But yesterday, as I was wrapping up a particularly quick workout (I’d left later than intended, and a good thing, too; Daniel texted me as I was on my way out the door, and suggested that he stay home from our weekly dinner with the folks, as he was still dealing with a sniffly cough, and didn’t want to give them whatever it was he might have. They were appreciative of his consideration, and when I went, they made sure to load me up with ribs and potatoes for him to enjoy at home), I went to do a few curls on the free weights, and passed by a high school kid with his dad acting as spotter.

“I like your shirt,” the dad said.

There wasn’t a whole lot I could say, apart from thanking him for his appreciation, but he went on. “I liked the one you were wearing the other day, too…”

Again, I couldn’t think of anything else to say but another thank you, as I finished my curls and lifts before heading out to freshen up before dinner. But I found myself wondering about his opinion – or perhaps, more to the point, his agreement with my opinion – and why it would be so.

After all, we live in a blue state – or perhaps more accurately, a red state being led around by the nose by a blue city (but then, aren’t all cities blue?). In either case, where we live is near the blue part of the state, so however you characterize it, such opinions might be rather on the dangerous side to express. And yet, here I am, marveling that someone would comment upon them, and favorably, too – somehow, it’s safe for me to wear such, and safe for him to comment upon it. Why should that be, when I hear that such opinions are to be looked down upon, denigrated and even crushed as fascistic?

Perhaps it’s the ethos of the gym; those who work out are doing so to improve themselves. Whether society needs improvement or not can be debated, but what those who are here are doing is working on the thing they have real power over; themselves. And when they are, there’s no time to run out into the streets complaining about this or that injustice.

On the other hand, it may just be the generation gap all over again, which I’d spent so much time denying back in the day. It was the dad, after all, who made the comment; whether his son agrees or not, I wouldn’t know, as he didn’t say anything. Then again, he was busy doing bench presses while his dad was serving as spotter; perhaps he didn’t even notice, absorbed as he was in his own workout.

So many questions, and only speculations on my part. Still, if I’m going to get in a few reps this afternoon, I think I’ll wear a blank T-shirt this time around.

Keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck; I’m going to need it (although maybe I need a little less than I think)