You know the type, the guy or girl who seeks to improve their health by joining (and cluttering up) the gyms across America. What makes January 1st the annual migration date for these couch potatoes to make their holy pilgrimage to my sacred sanctuary of cold stainless steel and sweat? It’s not for religious purposes, that much I can tell you. I call them the New Year Resolutioneers.

For instance, Eve and I decided to wait an hour past our usual scheduled time of heading out to the Y (YMCA), to give the new crowd a chance to dissipitate and waddle their overstretched sweats and brand spanking new New Balance tennies out of the cardio area. Mind you, we’re also postponing dinner until after our workouts, so I’m already in a poor mood!

We get there and whatdoyouknow?! Every damn machine is filled! Not just the cardio equipment, but the entire lineup of noobie weight machines (I call them noobie weight machines because every newb gets put through the same circuit training that the personal trainer gives them) Basically, you start at one end of the lane, and work their way down the stations of machines, going through the motions and watching a monitor that tracks your progress.

And to add insult to injury, the noob meatheads (I call them meatheads because they all wear either cutoff-sleeve tshirts or tank tops that reveals their spaghetti string arms and farmer tans) stand in front of the dumbbell racks and admire themselves in the mirror while blasting away with 10lb arm curls, times 50 reps each. Seriously? It’s like watching a person going into epileptic seizure, but intentional. (my apologies to people who suffer from epilepsy) So not only do I have to excuse myself each time I need to get to the rack, I get to trip over all the unracked weights on the floor because these noobs didn’t read the rules or even have the general decency or manner to pick up after themselves.

So by the looks of it, we’ll have to wait until February to go back.