Forgive me, ladies, for I’m in the throes of a dark rage this Friday morning. See, there’s an epidemic sweeping across the workout scene in the United States of Trump’s America: Manspreading at the gym.
Now, some of you gym-veterans are probably like “Shut up, Zara. This isn’t a new epidemic, men have always taken up excessive space and acted like rabies-ridden animals at the gym. This isn’t new you dumb baby dyke.” (Is it possible to still be a “baby dyke” at 31? I hope so, I’ve always felt comfortable in that identity.)
You’re right, it isn’t new. It just seems to have escalated in the past six months. I don’t know if I’m just noticing it more because I’m extra hypersensitive to man-spreading post election, OR if Trump’s win, has indeed, inspired the bro population to lazily text on the leg press for a solid fifteen minutes when seven people are clearly waiting to use it. Maybe it’s a bit of both (isn’t always a bit of both?).
I go to Equinox in Greenwich Village which I specifically chose to because I expected Equinox to be civilized. The sweet man who recruited me was a big ole’ gay, with long, fluttery eyelashes and a lithe dancer’s body. I exchanged a respectful “lesbian nod” with another lesbian during my tour. I took one look at the luxurious steam room and the *free* Keihl’s products in the bathroom and was sold. “This is my kind gym!” I thought to myself as I slathered some bougie body cream all over my body. I handed over my credit card with a rare smile stretched across my bitch face.
And to be fair, I do love Equinox. I also love working out (I swear to Lana Del Rey, my higher power, that exercise makes my antidepressants work even better). I love to stave off the demons of my past by torturing myself on bondage-looking torture-devices with heavy weights attached to them (AKA gym equipment).
But the manspreading is out of control. It sucks the joy out of beloved morning routine!
“How do you date these monsters?” I ask my straight best friend every time we’re at the gym. “I have no idea. Sexuality is clearly not a choice.” Is her default response. I proceed to feel an overwhelming flood of sympathy for her. Poor thing. Being straight must be such a difficult lifestyle, you know?
Within seconds an equally overwhelming flood of joy washes over my spandex clad body. Because, the men at the gym, make me oh-so grateful that God made me gay. That’s right, babes. God, did make me gay.
Here are 6 examples of when men have made me ecstatic to be a lesbian, whilst working out.
1. When They Sweat on Equipment Without Wiping It Down
Seriously, what the hell is that about, boys? You just soaked the equipment and sweetly hopped off, smiling, as if it’s some sort honor for me to drench my body in your (putrid smelling) sweat. Or maybe you’re just used to women cleaning up after you?
Look, I’m not your maid and I’m really trying to avoid contracting Hepatitis so please WIPE YOUR SHIT UP, BRO.
2. When They Squat Across The Floors And Bump Into Everyone, With No Apology
Just this morning I was peacefully lifting weights, minding my own business, when a giant man-creature knocked into me. He was doing melodramatic, wide-legged squats across the entire gym, with his eyes closed. Who does that? Entitled men who think we’ll all scamper away in their presence, that’s who, kittens.
Worst/best part? He didn’t even apologize. It was as if it was my fault, for daring to take up space in his home. PSA: We all pay the same ridiculous amount of money on our gym memberships. The. Gym. Is. Not. Your. Home.
3. When They Indulgently Text On The Machines When People Are Clearly Waiting
It’s like they text extra slow, just to ~prove~ they can get away with it. Women on the other hand always seem to be mindful of people waiting. We might even say something like “I’m on my last set. I’ll be five minutes” Why? Because we have manners, dickwad.
4. When They Gaze Into The Mirror As If They’re Roman Gods Preparing For Battle
This one actually cracks me up. I sort of love watching men gaze into their reflections as their lifting, stone-faced, loudly grunting. As if they’re preparing to battle Julius Ceaser and in ancient Rome.
Meanwhile, they’re taking air-conditioned Ubers back to their cushy jobs where they earn more than we do for doing the same job.
5. When They Roll Their Eyes When I’m On A Machine They Want To Use
Just because I have a bow in my hair and I’m wearing black shiny leggings and I’m a girl, doesn’t mean that I don’t lift, bro.
6. When They LEAVE Their Sweaty Towels On A Machine
PSA: No one wants to touch your sweaty towel.
7. When They Manspread Across The Mats
This one really drives me crazy. I was at the gym just the other day and a white guy in durag, I kid you not, was doing sit-ups horizontally across the mats, while the rest of us girls and gay boys squeezed our bodies into little corners.
So kittens these are examples of the many times I gaze into the abyss, smile to myself, and think hell yes! I never have to sleep with one of these vile creatures for the rest of my life!
Now for the record, I’m not talking about all men, just as lesbian comedian DeAnne Smith says, just the men “that are feeling particularly defensive right now.”