Sharing is Caring, Have You Sat On Someone’s Face at FitRec?

By Willa Norvell | Photo by Tara Mullaney

“No gym is ever so busy that people should be getting bussy.” - Plato, The Republic

As a quiet partaker of free weights, I don’t usually have to dabble in the art of “working in” (for the unathletic readers, “work in” means that you consent to share a machine or weights with a fitness freak during breaks if it’s crowded). But this time, the consequences of frequenting a college gym finally caught up to me at the machines. I didn’t mean to lose my dignity or my leg press virginity, but that was not up to me to decide.

At approximately 5:46 pm, a ghostly figure reeking of testosterone wafted over in my direction, clocking me as FE!N played in my beats. I could tell he was set on using the machine as well, so I braced myself for actually having to talk to someone mid-workout. I should have braced myself for impact.

“One more set,” I informed him, cranking out a push that resembled giving birth. Since my face was dripping with sweat, I leaned forward to quickly grab my handy towel, soaking up my hard work. As I sat back for the last rep, my vision went black.

CHK-CHK-BOOM. FACE SHOT.

“Ahhhh tough my bad, I thought you had gotten up.” 

TF YOU MEAN “MY BAD?!” My complexion became temporarily engulfed by skintight GymShark shorts. I stood up, pretended I finished my set, and ran to the bathroom. “FE!N… FE!N… FE!N…” echoed in my ears, I started to cry. For the following 48 hours, I could only smell Whey Protein Powder and Jack Link's beef jerky. With my confidence shattered, I decided to invest in going to one of those outdoor park gyms that are so random and open that no one would ever dare look at me cause who even uses those.

I implore all FitRec goers: look before you load, peek before you plop, notice before you nestle. This is a cautionary tale. I can tell you have cake, I don’t have to taste it too.