Would love some details of said confrontation... as soon as you calm down.
This is the general breakdown. First, however, let me give you a slight prelude for context. (And yes, it took me this long to calm down: 50% Scottish and 50% German with red hair amounts to a big, angry Ginger from time to time.)
My "gym" is not a gym
per se, at least not in the context of a Balli's, 24 Hour Fitness, and so on; as the gym owner deems, "it's a training center." That is what initially attracted me to the gym, as it has an area larger than 90% of the other weight rooms I have been in with seven different weights of tractor tires, harnesses, pulleys, parachutes (for wind sprints in the parking lot), hanging rings (for pull-ups, body weight exercises, etc.) and a myriad of other equipment that is useful to add some variation to my isotonic-biased program.
The downside of this equipment, however, is that it attracts every Affliction-t-shirt-wearing, Under Armour-donning, Cross Fit-jargon speaking moron within a 50 mile radius - think of this gym as the hive, so to speak, of the local Cross Fit plague. Given my workout times, I by and large thought I was going to avoid the putrid cesspool of Cross Fitters, but unfortunately, I was wrong.
At any rate, there is a certain group of Cross Fitters, who operate so strikingly like a cult that I almost feel bad for them. They are led - and I use that word as literally as possible - by a 5'5" 160lb Cross Fitter who I equal parts loathe and pity. He "directs" their activities while using 50% of the equipment available in the gym, all the while uselessly taking up space with exercises that could be done more effectively elsewhere and with less equipment - i.e., lateral deltoid raises
while standing on a balancing ball, harness sprints in an area near the dead lift pad that could be done outside, and so on. Each time I see him, I am overcome with the urge to grab his face and mercilessly bash his face into a brick wall while his tiny, undeveloped legs dangle in convulsions.
So, that is the situation I currently find myself in. Most days, I really do not mind the rest of his "clique" other than himself, and they almost completely abstain from looking at me because I out-lift them and am significantly larger. This is not the point at which I am inserting back-patting compliments, just being honest. But today, however, they were literally taking up more space in a gym than I have
ever seen five people consume before in my entire life: the leader was doing some god-forsaken exercise whereby he was running toward the squat cage/Smith Machine, grabbing the poles and suspending himself sideways; his crew, with all their blatantly homoerotic "Cross Fit regalia" strewn everywhere I needed to go, were filming themselves doing box jumps and clean-and-jerks, and moronically screaming at the top of their lungs.
To a point, I was containing my anger, as today was power legs and aux., biceps, so other than the leader doing the flag pole dance, I was relatively calm. As I was leaving, though, I completely lost my mind. All five of these morons had
full hockey bags all over the area where the squat cage was, half doing FILMED exercises, the other half mixing
literally five different powders into their shaker cups and then arrogantly discussing the benefit of their supplements and diet. My locker was in the midst of all this junk, and as I walked by, I peripherally saw the "leader" shake his head and mutter something to his minions. After that, I utterly and completely snapped in a way that nearly got me banned from the gym.
For about five minutes, I held a public sermon embarrassing each and every single one of this "crew," by intricately detailing how terrible their form was, how weak they are (I have a photographic memory), how the supplements they were mindlessly downing posed significant contraindications with one another, and generally demeaning every single part of their physique. The only thing that stopped me from carrying out my urge was about four other people who were trying to contain me - and that is a difficult task, as anybody who has tried to contain a raging Ginger knows. I am pretty sure there was a significant pool of urine and feces on the ground by the time I was done, because I was bellowing loud enough to be heard three blocks away. Normally, I am not this immature, but after taking months of constant eye-ball intercourse from this little punk, it was time to stop.
So, that's my story for today.