powerhouse - day I

These aren't beads I hung up in my dorm room in my very artsy hippy college in the redwoods. Nor is it decor that I have up in my house. It's a g-l-a-m-o-r-o-u-s shot of the shower curtains at my new gym. Whhaaaat? Yeah, that's what I said when I saw them. Fancy Schmancy Mr. Powerhouse.

Gyms...I haven't had membership to one since college. And today, I remembered why. They are often filled with very large muscular men who intimidate me with their very large guns. But, more than those guys...there's something worse there that every gym has. Machines. Lots of exercise machines.

I did some circuit training because the very angular, cold, black and white machines seemed approachable and user-friendly with their little humans-broken-down-into-muscle-pieces diagrams. "Sure, I could use a little work on my latimma-ma-wha..?"

Maybe I'll do some free weights. I picked up my little 5 pounders and worked it real hard next to the guy leaning in a 45 degree angle doing 50lb/arm bicep curlies. (I made the poundage up; is that even a lot? Doesn't matter, it's 10xs more weight than I used, so I was impressed).

With my legs and arms feeling wobbly and worn out, I was about to make my way back to the locker room when I saw....him. His unique 80s look was a bit outdated, but it still suited him, especially given what he was wearing, or shall I say not wearing. He looked straight at me while flexing his huge - I mean HUGE - muscles. We caught each others' eyes for a moment, but I had to look away because...

Check back for the revealing of Mr. Muscles identity in "powerhouse - day 2."