working out

The gentleman next to me grunts with effort.  He’s doing some curls with light dumbbells.  His face turns red.  He’s about 25 years old, wears thick, black-framed glasses, wears his dark hair forward.  I’m jogging.  I hear him grunt again.  He’s really starting to push himself.  Must be getting ready for a big event or goal: a wedding, a beach vacation, or maybe he’s trying to meet girls.  My jog continues.  The gentleman moves on to do some leg squats, fumbling a bit with the machine.  Probably missed the appointment with his personal trainer.

His loafers match his new khaki pants.  His button-down shirt starts to show sweat marks under his armpits and around  his collar.  The gentleman rolls up his dress shirt and moves from the leg squats to the benchpress.  He grunts more, the weights precarously sliding on the bar.  The gentleman is definitely pushing himself.  His khakis now start to show sweat around his belt, his face is flush with sweat, his shirt starting to soak in the humid and hot gym.  I feel almost bad for him that his trainer recommended that he dress business casual for his workout.  But he looks snappy, as the back of his oxford shirt grows dark with sweat.

I finish my own workout, shower, and head back to my office.  After finishing a few emails I head down to the company shuttle to start my 1 hour commute home.  I open my laptop and send a few emails, the shuttle closes its door.  The scent of undershowered lockeroom fills the trapped air on the bus.  A distinct and sour smell of body odor permeates.  I look around.  The gentleman with the khakis sits across from me, hoping to stop sweating after his strong workout – before he arrives home.