Adventures at Bally's

I love going to the gym. I've wanted to join a gym for years, but never had the money until now. Now that I can, I obessively go at least four days a week, sometimes as many as six, and I have a psychotic personal trainer. At least two of his other clients are teachers, and I don't know how he does it, but he only trains young women who are fairly nice to look at. I guess that's Hollywood for you.

He told me that two nights ago a fight almost broke out at the gym. There was a line for an ellyptical machine and a girl was on it five minutes longer than the 30 minute time limit, so my trainer asked her to get off. That started a near-riot, as she didn't want to and other people started weighing in. They had to call in one of the buff, scary trainers to chill everybody out.

I can't imagine getting in a fight over a cardio machine. There are very few things I could imagine getting in a fight over these days, although I used to fight all the time as a kid, over anything that moved me to irritation.

My teenage students like to fight over nothing sometimes. I just always tell them to wait until they get out of class so I don't have to clean up the blood. That makes them laugh and usually defuses the situation, because whatever they were pissed about doesn't seem so bad if you chill for a few minutes. But grownups should know better.

I saw Ron Glass at the gym the other day. I love Ron Glass. If I was on the treadmill for ten minutes and he wanted my spot, I'd give it up. I'd probably give it up for anybody who's really nice. I can always run on the track. I guess when you spend all day around impatient, whining teenagers, you don't really have the energy to care about waiting in line for a cardio machine. Or maybe I'll just get my trainer to beat people up for me.