SKRUG Strikes Again

SKRUG is the gift that keeps on giving.

Hans and Franz, who should totally go to SKRUG.

No matter how tired (or busy with GRE studying/tutoring Mr. B’s cousin in English/random errands/death) I am after work, I make it a point to go to the gym  because at this point it’s not that I want to go, it’s that I need to go.  It adds a stolid stability that my life does not otherwise have, and all my aggressions come out when I push myself to run faster, bike harder, and get gross for an hour (but usually about 35-45 minutes, depending on how sorry for myself I feel that day.)

Also, the people there are hilarious.

To wit:

  1. Skinny, skinny, skinny, pretty girl with a nose so sharp and Slavic she could cut bread with that sucker, standing in the front row of the Zumba class, doing all the moves perfectly, and wearing designer sweatpants but not breaking a sweat, making me hate her, until I look down realize that she has an untied shoelace and hasn’t noticed for half an hour.
  2. Russian women in the locker room discussing, in explicit detail and very loudly, the problems with their urinary tracts and how they are taking herbal supplements that they bought at the local Russian pharmacy to help alleviate their symptoms but maybe it will go away on its own, God willing.
  3. Guy benchpressing 50 lbs in an extremely macho manner that makes you think he is ready for Ironman (or at least my dream 5k) until a woman comes up to him and starts yelling about why he let their daughter catch a cold. He promptly deflates, downgraded.  All the bros lifting weights look at him like he just stole their testosterone.
  4. 50-year-old women wearing pants that say “Juicy” or “Cutie” or “PINK” on the ass. I personally can’t wait until our generation turns 65 and is wearing these sweats in our condos in Boca while our husbands wear FCUK shirts.
  5. Blonde girl, about 24, could stand to lose some weight, intensely running on the treadmill listening to Hebrew rap music,judging everyone. As the song gets to a good part, she waves her arms in weird dance-like gestures and accidentally turns off her treadmill, coming to a complete stop mid-run. People stare. She checks to see if something’s wrong with the treadmill. Nope.  Probably just God letting her know that karma’s a bitch.

Would you like to be collected, curated, judged, and sealed in my permanent memory and possibly on this blog?  Just come to SKRUG from 7-8, Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Sundays!