The Judgement Zone
New Jersey Man Offers Plenty of Judgement Outside of Planet Fitness
The wide windows offer onlookers field of vision for critiques
My wife Mary Jane and I traditionally take our nightly constitutional around the neighborhood. We once enjoyed an Asian supermarket, close, but that closed, and now it’s a Planet Fitness.
We had been planning to join, with the health plan discount, but we came across this man once again the other night.
We had seen him before, but I never thought of engaging with him. Could he have been a freak? After a polite “good evening, young lovers,” he said he enjoyed watching the “worker-outers, taking notes, and cracking jokes.”
“Don’t tell me I can’t be a critic,” he said. “That’s inside. I’m outside.”
Why offer such huge windows if what happens inside is so “hush-hush” he wondered.
Covid-19 made him discover he could grow his hair “long and luscious.” The only problem — wearing his mask that hides his beard. He gets called “ma’am” like “all the time.”
Last night, he agreed to share his notebook of “criticisms” and “judgments.” He laughed at not making judgments. “Heck, we’re human. We prejudge all the time — right? It keeps us out of danger! It’s instinctive!”
The local man — who lived across the street behind the Wawa — would not divulge his name. He wouldn’t want people to judge him as a “loser” with “nothing better to do than lurking at people working out.” He wore a yellow shirt, a Hair-Ties for Men black and white headband of unusually large width, and a hair tie in the back done up in what he called “a man-tail.”
“A man-bun, no — but my man-tail, yes!”
I told him I was a writer. Could I record his story? Sure — as long as I didn’t reveal his identity.
Here is what he revealed in his notes:
- Does that guy in tight black shorts and a too-tight off-the-rack Kohls's white shirt really think he’s working out? He must be fifty-five. He just likes showing off “his package” like some reject from Magic Mike! He walks around from machine to machine, as if touching the machine is enough. And you know what’s funny? This guy wipes his head down all the time with a white towel. I guarantee there is no sweat on that towel! Only the remnants of some over-priced body wash from The Dollar Store.
- Okay — here’s one: that one woman there — the one in the yellow and black leopard-striped yoga pants and unflattering white shirt. My God, she’s not wearing Spanks or underwear and every pimple on her butt can be seen as well as her “frontage.” And, just how old is she? I don’t wish to body shame anyone, but come on? Right? Would I make the public vomit if I walked around in a Speedo? And if that wasn’t bad enough. She’s been on that one machine for half an hour doing reps with like 10 pounds.
- And here’s this kid — now I got to admire this kid. Well, I gotta admire people in there doing something about getting healthy, right? I admit that. Now, this kid has all the right swag. Those sneakers are brand new. I think his mommy must iron his gym wear from Dick’s. And he’s new here. I’ve never seen him here before. But he goes from machine to machine like a madman. But he does like 10 reps of low weight — wipes off the machine — and he’s the “Around the Gym in an Hour” kind of guy.
- Okay — how about that one tall woman on the treadmill. I swear she runs twenty miles a night on that thing. Her posture is perfect, and every five minutes, like a machine, she hits her water bottle — something that must have cost what the military pays for a toilet seat. She’s almost too perfect, like Mrs. Roboto, as she doesn’t want to appear human. She talks to no one — especially not that guy with the “junk” trunks.
- I love that guy there. He comes here like a few times a week, around the same time. His wife drops him off. God knows where she goes. By the looks of her, sorry, she needs fitness more than her hubby. He’s on the treadmill, too, but can he walk any slower? Can’t he just do what you guys are doing — walking around the neighborhood? And he wipes his forehead, and dabbles his hairy armpits, like once every minute. I get more of a workout just looking at the guy, right? And his damn earbuds keep falling out, and the treadmill throws them off underneath other machines, and he has to crawl to find them. Why not get proper headphones? And his phone keeps popping out of his baggy drawers, and when he bends over, well, that’s worth a paragraph of criticism right there.
- Right — so those two dudes in the corner with the free weights. Don’t you think they’re at the wrong place? Look at them. What they wear — those half shirts that reveal the lower abs and the arms and the rings of muscle in the back. I betcha they douse themselves with golden oil like Achilles and Patroclus before working out. One spots the other guy. They could probably bench all three of us for breakfast. Then one fist pounds the other — and they take turns. But they don’t wipe down the bench. I’m not sure whether or not they just like showing off to all these other “we’re trying” types. I’m a little sus about those two. Jealous, yeah maybe — but those brains may just be filled with muscle and workout-lube.
- Right — that middle-aged woman in yellow on the bike. She’s hilarious. Sometimes I think I can actually hear her singing from out here. The Fitness guy in purple has to frequently tap on her shoulder to tell her to quiet down. It seems she loves Motown and when Smokie Robinson gets into your soul, you can’t stop, right? And her facial expressions — I mean, she imbibes the whole song. And I love her Bluetooth headphones. They are so large on her small head, and when she’s done, her permed hair has these large indents from the headphones. And it’s the only thing she does — the bike — and she rides like it's “Sunday Afternoon in the Park with George.”
- That guy there — he’s the worst! He tries to talk to everyone. At least “junk in the trunk” doesn’t talk to people. I guess he’s well-meaning but is this really the place to “hook up?” I guess he’s lonely — and with COVID-19 and all, I get it. At least now, most don’t wear masks. He samples machine after machine, and those sneakers look like twenty years old. I guess the low fees of the gym just bring anyone in. I’m sorry. Was that cruel? Well, I am a Critic, man.
- How about that one worker over there. He’s new. He’s young. And he’s gorgeous right, but he looks so unhappy. I know he gets bored. I wonder if he went to college and can’t find a job. Maybe he was a physical education major, and can’t wait to get paid as a teacher to blow a whistle while watching kids walk around the track. I’ve seen him arrange and rearrange the displays for an hour. He’s on his phone all the time, and I would love to know what he’s looking at? You know, I just like observing people.
- Okay — I know I’m boring you with all these notes of mine — and God knows what you think of me — but I actually walk by here every night — and circle around — it’s not like I sit down out here with a beer and a beach chair and stare at the people. I may be rather freaky, but that’s too obvious right. Every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, there’s this one woman, and I should capitalize her name, as Woman — as the archetype of the Model Woman. She has a derriere that could have been sculptured by Michaelangelo. Now, it’s Monday, she won’t be here until tomorrow, but she has this routine — and she knows what she’s doing. She’s about my age — but so much better shape. In about an hour, she does like fifteen different machines at different weights — and she’s polite to people. I love her smile. I don’t see a ring. Sometimes women wear false rings just to keep the freaks like me away, right?
Did The Critic plan on joining Planet Fitness to get to know her? He laughed. He rubbed his neck to reveal his extra Covid weight, and then rubbed his belly “like a bowl full a jelly. “I don’t know. The whole online dating thing hasn’t worked for me.”
I asked why — if I could be so bold. “Well, one woman sent “pubis” pics of herself, and that “was just freaky.” And another would only date him if he swore fidelity to Jesus Christ. And then another, a woman brought her father with her “as protection.”
My wife, who by this time, was sitting on the curb, checking her phone. Was she annoyed at my interest in The Planet Fitness Critic?
“Hey Mary Jane, do you think all three of us could join? We could help our friend here with his love interest? I know you’re fine, babe, but I know I could drop a few pounds.”
She shook her head. “No, I think you may have found a new buddy,” she said. “Why don’t you two join together as a comedy team. You seem almost like the same man.”
It was getting late. By this time the guy in the purple shirt was coming outside to ask “what our problem was.” Could we please leave?
“We’re getting criticisms from inside about this freak by the window,” he said.
The Critic in yellow smiled. “I didn’t think they were allowed to be Critics inside. Only outside.”
And with that, we parted. We would probably see him again during our nightly walks. He walked away too, and then, after ten minutes of walking, I turned back, and there The Critic was again: looking in the window.
My wife simply shook her head. Should we pick a new walk routine? “I hate to think about what he’s writing about us. He probably thinks we’re freaks.”
She was right. Writers are freaks. You never know when one is gonna write about you. And bam — you end up in an essay or article or novel.
“Do you mind if I write when we get home? I need to transcribe this conversation.”
“No,” she said. “That means I can catch a psycho-thriller on Netflix. Not that I need Netflix for that. So many psychos everywhere.”
The roll of her eye told me everything. God, I love her.
Thank you for reading! Audio version here. Follow me on Medium at Walter Bowne.
