I got yelled at in the gym tonight.
For deadlifting. By a lady walking on the treadmill reading a magazine. “DO YOU HAVE TO DO THAT!” she said – in reference to the noise no doubt. I thought a moment and said … “Yes”.
‘Cause that’s how it works.
I actually go to a “hardcore” powerlifting gym nicknamed “The Dungeon”. It has no windows. In summer it is fat-kid killing hot and in winter freezing frickin’ cold. I drive 100k round-trip 2x per week so I can chalk up and have access to bands/chains/boards and decent bars/racks and lift heavy. Guys have shit their pants in there lifting – even passed out. I heard a rumour someone shit their pants AND passed out. No one argued the veracity of those events – just the order.
They also have a couple of treadmills that are pretty easy to get on.
I would like her to complain to the owner – I have a pretty good idea of how that will go. My deadlift is such that I can’t even get “on the board” at my gym – those of you who follow powerlifting will understand this reference. Ah the rich irony of life!
At times like this I take comfort in the words of Henry Rollins
“The Iron never lies to you. You can walk outside and listen to all kinds of talk, get told that you’re a god or a total bastard. The Iron will always kick you the real deal. The Iron is the great reference point, the all-knowing perspective giver. Always there like a beacon in the pitch black. I have found the Iron to be my greatest friend. It never freaks out on me, never runs. Friends may come and go. But two hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds.”