A Religious Experience

It’s always kind of nice (in a relative sense) to get good and warmed up with a nice aerobic workout of some kind for around 20 minutes and then hitting a nice light weight workout. Please let me add the subtext that these days are rather rare for me and just getting to the gym is a massive chore when I have a couch that is as close to emulating a leather-encased cloud as you can get.
Such was the case tonight with my couch. It was feeling great and I didn’t want to go anywhere near the gym because I didn’t feel nearly as good as the couch did. Regardless, I decided that maybe I’d feel better if I went to the place I pay dearly for and trotted my weary soul down to the gym.
Once there, I went through my regular bit on the elliptical (itlivestokill) and got a nice sweat happening. The heartrate was up, my lethargy was slightly faded and I hopped off that odd contraption to the weight area. To my chagrin it was one of those nights that I always hate–it was packed. I’m fine with a few people around there and even working in with someone on a machine, but tonight was a night that happens sometimes wherein it looks like people are having a religious experience with the workout machines.
They look towards the ceiling, yet with eyes cast downward, apparently trying to find god in the pulldown bar. They grunt profanities and Christ-related epitaphs, only to feel salvation as they pull on the free weights. The best is their dreamy, eerie trance as they do pull-ups.
I’m sorry to say that this isn’t my crowd and I had to leave. I much prefer the aethist weight lifters who find no deeper purpose in the machines they use, do their squats/lifts/pulls/crunches etc. and go home, realizing that there is nothing beyond dumbells except a greater healthful good that hurts like hell to attain.