Nicknames are bad.....names.....

5:45 a.m.
Planet Fitness.

As I started working out this morning I found that the same set of songs that I have been listening to on my mp3 player (which only holds about 20 songs) while I work out were not doing their usual job of keeping me from focusing on how long I have been working out. My short attention span makes it impossible for me to exercise for any decent span of time without the aid of something else to focus on. Usually, my odd combination of Britney Spears, the Postal Service, and songs played at my old high school's pep rallies are enough to hold my attention. This morning though, the predictability of what was going to play next, combined with skipping through half of the songs since I have now played them out, made not-concentrating on my workout very difficult.

It became imperative that I find another way to get my mind of off the heavy breathing and muscle pain.

As I looked out at my fellow gym mates, I sized up a familiar crowd. People who work out at this hour have a routine, so after going for a couple of days you realize that the same people are here all the time. So as I exercised, I began to give out nicknames.

First, I watched Blind Justice work on his abs. I call him Blind Justice because he looks like the actor who plays a blind cop in a new series on ABC. The series looks like it sucks and everytime I see the commerical promoting it, I get visibly angry. Who is paying for these ideas? Anyways, back to Blind Justice, the man doing crunches. I watch him for awhile and keep waiting for him to feel his way to the next machine, and then someone comes up to him and asks him why he is working out like he has something to prove, and he pounds his fist on a weight bench and yells something that is supposed to make us all go, "Wow, you tell them blind man", but really it just makes me long for the days of good writing on TV. Like Sports Night. I then realize that I am thinking more about the show then the guy still doing crunches and laugh to myself as I move on to the next unsuspecting person.

Captain America is new here. I haven't seen him all last week. He looks like his line of work would be something like....computer programmer. There is a big American flag on his t-shirt, ergo the name. The manly tribal tattoo on his ankle seems to clash with his glasses and khaki shorts. At a machine that works your arms he does about 5 reps; during each his eyes grow really wide and he smiles really big. This is Captain America's workout grimace. After he finishes his 5 reps he sits for several minutes stretching his neck, checking his pulse, and looking very tired. Captain America makes me feel good about myself. I hope Captain America sticks with his morning routine. Moving on...

Baldo and Pastie were an interesting duo. The two men worked out together - Baldo seemed to be the leader; buff and wearing a sweatshirt that made him appear even larger, but with shaved head that appeared very small in comparison to the rest of his body. Pastie was, well, pasty. I watched as they critqued each other's posture, pointed at things, and analyzed each bit of their workout. Then I realized that Baldo and Pastie were looking in my direction. I had not thought about the fact that as I was formulating my names and stories for all of these people, I was also staring at them. This is a no-no in the gym, unless you want "help working out." (You ladies know what I am talking about.) So I had to end my Baldo/Pastie time very abruptly, and be sure I didn't even accidentally make eye contact the rest of the morning.

I give nicknames to the women I work out with as well (I know some of you were wondering if I spend my entire workout scoping out the men...shame on you).

There is Sharon Osbourne, who I have mentioned before. Her nickname is for the obvious reason that she looks like her. This version of Sharon Osbourne however, is insanely fit and could easily kick my butt. I keep wanting to ask her what her routine is, as I wish I had her abs and guns. But then I remember that the real Sharon Osbourne scares me, so this one by default scares me as well.

Hoops comes in every morning with her boyfriend, De-something. Hoops always wears the tightest shorts known to man when she works out. She has long black hair, past her waist, and never pulls it back when she works out. Hoops always wears big hoop earrings. I am waiting for one to get caught in a machine. De-something seems to be training her for something; perhaps she is trying to work on her career as a model in one of those magazines with the big trucks in it. You know, the ones guys say they look at for the cars, but in reality it's for the big-booty/breasted woman lying across the hood. De-something has a tattoo on his upper arm that says "DE"-something I can't make out. He looks like he could snap Captain America in half with one hand. I stop staring at De-something out of respect for his massive strength and hard core looks. Yo.

My favorite early morning gym person is a personal trainer. I call him Clappy. He always is training some older, slightly overweight woman. The woman always look happy, even though he is making her do exercises that I refuse to do in front of people, because they hurt and they don't exactly look attractive. He is nice to everyone and is always clapping, cheering them on. Clappy is my new friend. I have never actually spoken to Clappy, but one day I will get up the nerve to ask him about back fat.

At this point in my workout I realize I have been going for a solid 35 minutes. This plan should work for a little while...until I have named all of the early morning people. Then I will have to devise a new plan to keep my attention away from working out. Operation: Ipod Shuffle.

Mood: annoyed by Launchcast insistence on playing Lindsey Lohan on my station
Listening to: Regret by New Order