Biking To The Gun Show

Like many American couples, my wife and I share a gym membership.  She goes so she can watch “Say Yes To The Dress” somewhere besides our bedroom and I go to get buff-er.  I have recently noticed an unfortunate trend at my gym and I feel inclined to briefly touch upon it.  Our gym is made up of mostly country club clientele, which means older, flabbier men and trophy wives.  I must admit that we are not part of this country club clientele.  We live outside the gates of a club and are therefore not subject to the protection of security guards or privy to the residential golf cart traffic.  I do have a trophy wife though and I fully expect to be treated awesomely for saying that. 

The gym is being over run by what are stereotypically referred to as meatheads.  These are the gentlemen that do arm curls while staring at themselves in the mirror and whom you fully expect to ask the young lady working the front desk, “uh, is the weight room that way, uh?” as they flex and point. Please do not get me wrong, I am sure they are nice fellows but I find it kind of hard to strike up a conversation when there are five members of the same group all working-in at the squat rack.  I need to use the squat rack too but I do not have that kind of time.  I am married for crying out loud.  The guys that have the most cut muscles also dress the most obnoxiously.  Call me old fashioned, but I do not think it is ever appropriate to wear a tank top with the sides cut open all the way down to the waist line.  Your side cleavage is not needed or appreciated.  If you get to do it then sir, so do I, and neither of us want that now do we?  In case you were wondering, yes, I realize I gripe a lot.  Also, lose the hair gel, it leaves crusties on the bench and they wind up on my shirt when I lie down and people think I have dandruff.  Dandruff is uncomely and I do not have room for it in my life. 

Driving home from a recent trip to the gym, I noticed a dad riding a bike along the bike path and pulling a cart behind it with two kids inside.  This dad was really going for it too.  He had his shoulders hunched, head down and forward like a diving eagle and knees pumping like a locomotive.  I looked to my wife and told her that I thought those kids were having the time of their lives with the wind whipping their hair and experiencing the thrill of being pulled at full speed.  I wondered briefly why I have no memory of being pulled quickly in a cart behind my father.  Then I remembered exactly why that memory does not exist. 

When I grew up, dads did not pull carts behind their bikes.  Mothers were responsible for bike rides and the carrying vehicle was not a safe, two-wheeled cart.  Kids rode in a faulty, unstable plastic seat attached to the back of the bicycle.  I have memories, more like flashes I suppose, of my two-year old self white-knuckling the grips of the white plastic as my mother awkwardly and angrily wobbled the bike around the block trying not to kill us both.  Her knees were thrust outward as she pedaled and yelled cuss words in attempts to not tip us over.  This was before helmets were en vogue so if we went down, I probably was not getting back up.  I think this is why you mostly saw bicycles with empty child seats being ridden by moms.  Each child gets one obligatory ride before the mother figures out what a bad idea that is and then it never happens again.  This is probably the link to childhood obesity and will now correct itself since kids get bike rides from their parents.  I just outlined a scientific breakthrough right there and I am not even a scientist.  Let us review: flimsy, unsafe plastic child seat ensures obesity; two wheels attached to a neon carriage equals key to future fitness nut. 

You are welcome.