Planet Fitness, my gym of choice, claims to be a “judgement free zone.” I’m telling you right now that that slogan is false advertising because I know I judge. I don’t judge everyone though. I have a lot of respect for people who get off their butts and get themselves to the gym on a semi-regular basis. I don’t really care if you’re walking 1.0 on the treadmill or you’re sprinting at 9.8 (because God knows you can’t handle those extra tenths of a mile to make it 10.0 – you were already struggling when you hit 8.0 but you kept going. Snaps to you). I won’t pass judgement on someone using 3-lb free weights instead of 15 or anyone who mouths the words to the songs on their ipods (lets be real, I’m one of these people).
I do, however, judge you on your attire. Well, not the whole outfit. Just your shoes. Why are you wearing Keds to the gym? Those don’t have arch support. They don’t cushion your knees when you run or do squats. They don’t even look cool. What made you choose them? Do you not own real sneakers? No, I don’t really care if you don’t do cardio, that’s no excuse to wear poorly constructed footwear. Go to some discount shoe store to buy sneakes so you can at least pretend like you care about the health of your foot. Converse don’t count either, just in case you were wondering if your high tops (or even low tops) would be acceptable.
I lied, I judge on one more thing. Sports bras. All I have to say is get one. Get one that works. Get two for God’s sake. No more of this I’m-wearing-my-regular-bra-to-run thing. Sometimes I’m afraid that the women on the treadmill next to me will not only put their own eyes out, but mine too. Both by rendering me blind with the heinousness of looking at their jiggling ta-tas and by hitting me square in the eye with a nip.
So there it is. If you ever see me in the gym, you better take cover cause I’m judging you, I’m judging you hard. Unless of course you have proper sneakers and bras on. Or I can see the album artwork of Justin Beiber on your ipod touch. If you like the Beibs, you can wear Adidas slid-on sandals and a cami with a built-in shelf-bra for all I care. Just mouth the words to “One Less Lonely Girl” with me while I do that weird bicycle movement with my legs on the elliptical and we’ll be cool. We can even be friends. (Until I walk outside and see you get in a mini-van with those stupid family stickers on it. Then I’m calling it quits on your ass.)