That Would Be Me (dot net)

I was at the gym the other day, getting a good shvits in the steam room after my workout. It was billowing and very hot, so I put my little towel over my head, sat back and enjoyed myself. After a few moments of that I heard someone complaining, full voiced, which is odd. Usually, when people talk in the steam room it’s in a soft, personal voice. Something about it being sort of a private experience, I imagine, and not wanting to disturb the other occupants. This woman was talking loudly. I wasn’t really paying attention to her, assuming she was talking to her boyfriend or something, but some of it seeped in.

“It’s too hot in here. Did you turn the heat up all the way or something?”

Someone answered her, I didn’t quite hear what he said, but she replied, “If you need to sweat that badly, work out first, for God’s sake.”

I was still trying to ignore her. Again, she asked, “Did you turn it up all the way or something? It’s just too hot.”

Her friend (or the person I assumed was her friend) said, “I don’t think you can turn it up.”

“Sure you can, you just pour water on that metal thing there. If you want to sweat that much you should go work out, not turn the steam up all the way.”

A point of explanation: at the gym I go to there is a little aluminum bar on the wall of the steam room, beneath which, I assume, is the sensor or thermostat that checks how hot it is in the room. When it’s cold it sends its little signal to the steam making apparatus deep in the bowels of the gymnasium (or, perhaps, next door in the janitorial closet) and steam magically fills the room with a satisfying hiss. Often, when you go into the room, there is simply no steam (or heat for that matter) so someone will pour water on the metal thing and soon steam will bellow out and everyone will be happy. The last few weeks, however, the steam itself seems to have been set at a slightly higher temperature or something because it’s been really, really hot. I liked it. Obviously some didn’t. In any case, back to this other gym patron.

The fellow (her boyfriend?) again said something to the effect that you can’t really adjust the heat, and the woman said, “I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to this guy with the towel over his head.”

That would be me.

I lifted the towel and looked at her. She was standing by the door, pretty, slight, maybe late twenties, had long black hair and a towel wrapped tightly over her swimsuit from breast to knee. I asked if she had been talking to me.

“Yes. Why did you put the heat up so high? It’s awful. If you wanted to sweat so much you should go work out.”

Now, why did she assume 1) I had turned the heat up, and 2) I hadn’t worked out? Probably because my belly can best be described as bouncy. Anyone with a bouncy belly couldn’t possibly go to a gym to work out, they would go to turn the heat up in the steam room. Obviously. I thought about telling her that, not only had I worked out first, that I’d lost 40 pounds in the last few months, (yes, it’s true. Thank you) so my belly probably wouldn’t be as bouncy in a few more. I didn’t say that. It was none of her damn business.

“I didn’t put the water on the sensor,” I told her instead and more to the point. “And it has been hotter in here the last few times I’ve been. However, I am enjoying it.”

“No, you put it all the way up. It’s never been this hot. It’s awful. You should work out, not try to loose weight in the steam room.” There it was.

“If you don’t like it,” I said, “go to the Sauna. It’s right next door.” I wanted to say it nicely, but might not have managed. I’m sure it didn’t slip into snottiness.

Her boyfriend, (I assume it was her boyfriend) said something very similar. In a similar tone of voice.  He then left and went into the Sauna.

“I don’t want to go to the Sauna. I want steam. It’s just too hot. You’ve ruined my entire gym experience!”

She left. Then, a few moments later, came back again to complain once more. I put my towel back over my head. The ironic thing is that, with her going and coming and standing in the door complaining, the heat in the room dissipated greatly, and if she’d just noticed that, she could have regained some sense of accomplishment from her workout (I assume she had worked out) and enjoyed her shvits.

I’m glad I’m not her boyfriend. (I assume it was her boyfriend.)

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Geoff Hoff is co-author of the best selling satirical novel Weeping Willow: Welcome to River Bend