Tri-Peeves

Posted: February 15, 2012 in In Transition
Tags: , ,

I’ve been under a lot of stress lately with the big pending move from my beloved bachelor pad, newly developing financial responsibilities including the purchase of my first vehicle, and my amped up training regimen.  Lately, it just seems like there’s been no time for me and the stuff I used to enjoy like sitting on my ass in my beat up EZ-boy and watching the boob tube; there’s no better way to relax and recharge your faith in humanity like a ‘Storage Wars’  marathon or back-to-back episodes of ‘American Pickers’  on A&E I assure you.  Hey, a guy has to have some guilty pleasures right?

Most often I try to take things in stride and not let those little things bug me and, sure, where I’ll gripe and moan about stuff here every now and again, it’s usually intended all in jest.  I’m generally a pretty happy dude.  Now having said this, I also won’t deny that I have been feeling rather irritable lately and I’m feeling the specific need to release a little of this pent up pressure I’m experiencing before I inadvertently go all bat-shit crazy and end up acting like someone whose cheese has definitely slipped off its cracker, if you know what I mean.  Besides, it’s fun to be an Internet douche from time to time right?

So, without further ado, here are the people and circumstances that have struck that particular ‘Asshole Chord’  with me this week:

1.  To those who attend the Brick class but either spin easy the whole time or simply walk during the run intervals: why are you here?  I realize that everybody has as much right as everybody else to reserve a bike at the local YMCA in order to participate in the weekly Brick class and, ultimately, we are all responsible for the kind of effort we put into the class but when there are other triathletes and cardio-fiends alike looking to have their asses kicked, getting shut out altogether so you can just toodle away the 90 minutes like Mary Poppins riding her bike through the park?  That’s just bullshit.  Go occupy one of the other spin bikes on the gym floor instead and pedal until your heart’s content, leave the hard workouts to those who are looking to actually benefit from it.  And that goes to the person who consistently leaves 45 minutes into the class.  Hey, thanks for spoiling someone else’s intended Interval workout for the day simply because you’re too pussy to handle it.

The point of a Brick class is to develop leg strength, improve your aerobic and anaerobic conditioning, as well as develop a degree of mental toughness and that’s not accomplished by pedaling like a sissy schoolgirl and then strolling around the track like you’re window shopping in a Parisian marketplace.  Giv’er or go home.

2.  To that person in line who takes forever ordering his coffee: I have a theory – the longer it takes you to order your coffee, the bigger the pretentious dipshit you are by proportion.  It’s COFFEE  with whatever you want in it; not rocket science.  Make up your friggin’ mind already!  There are those of us who have been either in the pool since 6:00am  or have just completed a century ride that are ready to judo-chop you in the Adam’s Apple if you’re going to keep us from the very thing we’ve been looking forward to and fantasizing about for the last few hours or so.

That’s the whole benefit of waiting in line, so you can clearly make up your simple, innocuous mind over which hot beverage you think would best behoove you on that particular occasion.  That way, when you get to the barrista you are ready to confidently present your order willfully and articulately and not hold the rest of us from carrying on with our day.  Seriously, can you not read plain English on the menu boards or something, or are you just lost in space?  Get a move on!

3.  To the girl who insists on free-styling her way through yoga class doing whatever she pleases: I notice you already, so can we get back to the program?  Yes, you’re very cute, definitely, and you have immense yoga skills, which is very evident in the way you can bend backwards and touch the back of your skull to your heels, but when you constantly do your own thing you’re throwing the rest of all off who are trying hard to concentrate on following along with the instructor so that don’t accidentally paralyze ourselves.  That’s why I attend class – to learn and improve – not have my ego totally busted by a classroom show-off.  It’s a wonder I can twist in certain directions as it is without snapping my spine, so you’re not helping build my confidence any.  Seriously, if you want to do your own thing, stay home and practice there.

And while I’m at it, for all you “Chatty-Cathy’s”  who insist on talking all through the class, would you mind buttoning it up for two minutes?  I don’t mind the odd comment and all as, hey, I’m quite often an offender myself, but I definitely don’t care to hear all about your past Friday night while I’m trying to center myself during class either, thank you.  And for the record, a yoga studio is NOT  the place to bring a cell phone either.  Geez!

4.  To the inconsiderate dipshit on the treadmill beside me who farts the entire way through his workout:  seriously, dude?  You fucking reek.  Period.  I understand that sometimes when you run you may experience random gastronomical issues – hell, farts happen and nobody know that’s better than me – but that also doesn’t give you license to drop air éclairs all over the place.  And we’re not talking about the “Oops, I can’t believe that I let that one slip ha ha”  kind of farts either, but more the “Oh my fucking god I have to take a huge shit”  kind of fart.  Not acceptable.  I would happily have kept a tear-filled eye on your treadmill while you quickly left for a moment to vacate your crap-packed bowels and therefore spare me some clean, non-toxic air with which to breathe comfortably for the rest of my workout.  But, no, I guess you would prefer to chance my passing out from asphyxiation at the hands of your noxious odour rather than take even minute away from your slow warm-up jog to unclog your pipes like a sensible person.  Thanks.

5.  To the old gaffer who insists on breast-stroking down the middle of the Fast  lane at the pool:  Get a grip…you’re even slower than the old ladies in the Slow  lane, so don’t get pissed off at me when I kick past you every 30 seconds.  They have those lane markers for a reason you know, and just because you’ve probably been swimming at this pool before water was even a trace element, that doesn’t mean you get to fuck up everybody else’s workout.  Seriously, you’re slower than duck snot in February and it’s called “Pool Etiquette”  for a reason you tool.  Swim in the proper lane!

And for the love of God, trim those yellowed talons you have for toenails before you sever somebody’s carotid artery with that lame-ass whip-kick of yours.

6.  To the muscley behemoth who likes to occupy either all the free weights, or multiple machines at the same time:  dude, can I work in somewhere?  I appreciate your imminent awesomeness n’ all, but, seriously?  I didn’t see your name in neon above the gym as I walked in, so how about letting some of us lowly gym peons use the equipment as well?  At the very least, maybe I can get a set (or a dozen) in while you’re busy staring at yourself and flexing your ginormous biceps in the mirror for the next half hour.  What’ya say, Sport?

And while I’m on the topic, how about putting all that shit back when you’re done too.  I mean, for the rest of us weaklings, we’d practically need a dump truck to move it all back to the proper area.  So do us the favor and include putting the weights back as part of your ‘warm down’  or whatever, your Hugeness.  Cheers.  Oh, and would it kill you to towel off the bench where you’ve been rubbing that sweaty, pimply back of yours all over the place please?

7.  To the Emo girl who insists on wearing that ridiculously small, holey spandex outfit to the gym: honestly, who are you trying to impress?  Because from where I’m sitting all the way over here across the room on my bench, all I can see is pubes poking out from all those worn holes.  Gross.  It looks like you have Lenny Kravitz in a leg lock.  I’m not asking you to put on some ridiculously expensive brand name designer outfit or anything, but something where I can’t immediately make out the outlines of your untamed pubic forest would be nice.

Where I appreciate your whole ’oh, woe is me’  sense of fashion, please spare me the gratuitous snatch shots, okay?  Once it’s been spotted, it’s rather like tearing your eyes away from the scene of a gnarly accident and it totally deters me from continuing on with my workout.  Nasty!

Okay, I feel somewhat depressurized now; maybe even a little vindicated.  Perhaps now that I’ve blown off a little steam I can once again get back on track with being my normal happy-pappy triathlete wannabe self.  On with the show…

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Comments
  1. Carolyn says:

    This is great shit.

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