Dear Gym-Goers...

Dear Phantom Hair,

Ever since I have grown you out, you always find a way to allow one of your pack to tickle my elbow while I'm trying to run. Emphasis on trying. How is it that just one of you escapes from my ponytail and my stretchy headband to slide down into the crook of my elbow? I must admire your tenacity and your acrobatics, but please stop bothering me. It's difficult enough not to trip over my own feet while simultaneously calculating pace and incline. I'll miss you (not!).

 

Dear Loogie-Hocker,

I would like to firmly assure you that we can all hear you grunting, panting, straining, and spitting with your dumbbells in the corner. I know you think you're camouflaged by heavy machinery and your high school muscle tee, but this is a fallacy. Please stop smoking a pack or five before you lift. The reason I keep turning my head toward you is not because I'm checking the status of my ponytail; it's because you're grossing me out and I'm forewarning you of my impending vomit.

 

Dear Overzealous Remote Thief,

Yes, I did hop off of my treadmill. I hope you don't mind that I went to grab some wipes to clean off my machine. In the meantime, please feel free to surreptitiously grab the remote I was using. You should know that I make it a habit to never know what happens at the end of CSI: New York.

 

Dear Volume King,

Sure, it can be a battle royale in here. The second you bump Pawn Stars up to volume 36, you best believe I'm bumping I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant up to 38. We can play this game all... workout... long. Once we both reach max volume and everyone else is plugging their ears, I'll still be running strong, pretending not to have acknowledged your scheme. Oh, you think I started it? Maybe I did. But we both know you'll be the first back down to volume 25.

 

Dear Music Monopolizer,

I'm totally down for some tunes while I lift weights, especially since my iPod is usually dead. Yes, you may go ahead and decide for all 5 of us what we'd like to hear. You should know, however, that Sarah McLachlan and Alanis Morissette are terrible choices for workout music. Please at least find some '90s Alternative or Top 20 or something worthwhile. Yes, I will accept Kelly Clarkson, but only if she's not wailing. Oh, wait...

 

Sincerely,

Peeved at the Gym