I can never understand the section of the species who shall enter a gym and then rudely fight over equipment or music….you know the type that goes “The music in your earphone is too loud…(and then point you to a “silence only” board” , or another example is “those who shall get very personal and peeved, if you turn down the volume of the central music”…. almost saying to you aloud “ if you are rich enough to own your own mp3 player, shove it up your twat (or arse), as for plebeians like us we need our gym music loud and noisy”.
Quite frankly, I simply don’t get the motivation of such folks.
At this point, It will help clarify – that I hit a gym to unwind and decongest my mind – I am not aiming to be the next Arnold “terminator” nor am I in a race to appear anorexia infected. And for those precise reasons, I hate getting into a gym and having a conversation,be it, either small talk or with the stupid instructors….I don’t need help and I don’t seek help 
And hence to me, the folks who come in behave so pesky are not irritants, they are ghoulish…my eyes almost scream murder.
I almost end up judging them……Its a sad life, if going to the gym is such a chore for these folks. As if, they have to walk 30 minutes on the treadmill, else their day is incomplete. The gym is an urban temple to help you deal with life, so lets look at it as meditation and personal peace….and not as “250 cals burned”.
Reminds me of one of my fav passages from Ayn Rand’s, We the living.
Do you believe in God, Andrei? No. Neither do I. But that's a favorite question of mine. An upside-down question, you know. What do you mean? Well, if I asked people whether they believed in life, they'd never understand what I meant. It's a bad question. It can mean so much that it really means nothing. So I ask them if they believe in God. And if they say they do—then, I know they don't believe in life. Why? Because, you see, God—whatever anyone chooses to call God—is one's highest conception of the highest possible. And whoever places his highest conception above his own possibility thinks very little of himself and his life. It's a rare gift, you know, to feel reverence for your own life and to want the best, the greatest, the highest possible, here, now, for your very own. To imagine a heaven and then not to dream of it, but to demand it.
Maybe on a similar note, I should ask folks “Do you come into the gym to listen to loud tasteless FM radio blaring out the central system?” instead of asking them their whole philosophy of working out.
One day, not too far away, I shall carry a sledgehammer to the gym
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