I would go there in rain, sleet, snow, anything. It had become a part of my life. The members of the gym had become a part of my life. The machines and the weights had become a part of my life. I never considered it an option to go or not, it became more of a duty. After a while, it came to a point where I felt as if it were even out of my power to consciously decide whether to go or not. This was my obsession.
The gym always smelled like sweat, and alcohol. Not the kind you drink, but the kind you sanitize with, somehow it was just as addictive. It was all addictive. The sound of the weights clinking against each other, the people huffing and puffing, blenders for shakes, there was also some sort of music in the background, but I was always more tuned to the sounds of the gym itself. In the Summer it was too hot, in the Winter, it was too hot, but never too hot for me not to go. This was a year ago, today I don’t have the time.
The lady on the treadmill is walking. Breathing heavily. Her hands are placed sternly at her sides with her elbows out. She listens to music and sometimes sings along. She begins to run. Breathing heavier. She presses the buttons on the treadmill to give her the incline she wants. She is dedicated.
Years have passed and the gym is now a club. Shiny lights and disco balls replace shiny plates of weight. The sound of glasses knocking together replaces the sound of weights hitting the ground. The mirrors are gone, instead, the walls can barely be seen. The juice bar is now a liquor bar. The smell of a new alcohol fills the air. Chairs in place of benches, bouncers in place of machines, liquor in place of protein. People still sweat.
The lady on the treadmill approaches me to ask me something. “Where have you been?” My response, “nowhere.”
