go.Jimmy.go

When I’m at the gym, I have a job to do. I’m not there to socialize or take selfies. I’m not there to make new friends. And I’m certainly not there because I enjoy exercising.

I’m there because apparently sitting on the couch watching television while eating something covered in cheese does not qualify as cardio.

My goal is simple: Get in. Do what needs to be done. Get out. Unfortunately, not everyone at the gym shares this same philosophy.

After years of extensive scientific observation, I’ve determined that most gym members fall into one of five categories: The Jocks, The Posers, The Influencers, The Talkers and People Like Me.

The Jocks

First are the Jocks. These are the people who arrive wearing matching athletic gear, expensive Nike shoes and some sort of smartwatch capable of monitoring everything from their heart rate to the atmospheric pressure on Mars.

They’re already in shape, and that’s what annoys me. They don’t need to be here. They should be outside running a marathon, climbing a mountain or preparing for the NFL Combine. Instead, they’re occupying the machines I need to use.

The Posers

Then there are the Posers. You know these guys. They travel in packs and congregate around the dumbbell rack like they’re attending some sort of summit for protein consumption.

Every exercise requires enormous amounts of weight accompanied by grunting loud enough to frighten nearby wildlife. They carry gallon-sized water jugs filled with mysterious liquids and spend approximately eleven minutes preparing for a set that lasts eight seconds.

Then comes the ceremonial dropping of the weights.

BOOM!

When everyone looks, they’ve accomplished their mission.

Some still wear the traditional hooded sweatshirt with the hood pulled over their head. I’ve never understood this. Maybe they’re trying to remain anonymous. Or maybe they’re in the Fitness Protection Program (see what I did there)?

The Influencers

Years ago, I called this group “The Models.” In 2026, they’ve evolved. Now they’re The Influencers.

These are the impossibly fit people walking around in coordinated workout clothes who somehow manage to look better after forty-five minutes on a treadmill than I do five minutes after getting out of the shower.

And there’s usually a phone involved. One precariously positioned against a water bottle.

The lighting is checked. The hair is adjusted. The camera starts recording, and then comes one easy set of ten reps.

Meanwhile, I’m walking behind them trying desperately not to accidentally become the sweaty old guy in the background of someone’s TikTok.

Although I should point out that attractive women at the gym do create one additional danger. They can make men attempt things they shouldn’t.

Suddenly, a weight I had absolutely no intention of lifting five minutes ago seems completely reasonable.

“Put another twenty pounds on there.”

Why?

Because somewhere deep inside the male brain is a prehistoric instinct that says:

“If she sees me bench-press this, she will choose me as her mate.“

Fortunately, at my age, another voice quickly intervenes. One called common sense, which says:

“Put the damn weight down before you need rotator cuff surgery.“

The Talkers

Then we arrive at my personal favorite gym personality: The Talkers.

These people don’t actually use gym equipment. They rent it. They’ll sit on a machine for twenty minutes discussing work, relationships, football, politics, dinner plans and possibly the geopolitical consequences of international trade with anyone who will listen..

They do everything except exercise.

People Like Me

Finally, there are People Like Me.

We’re easy to spot, because we’re the ones quietly moving from machine to machine while looking at our watches.

We’re never going to bench-press 400 pounds. We’re never going to compete in Mr. Olympia. We’re probably not going to post a shirtless photograph captioned BEAST MODE anytime soon.

We’re just trying to stay reasonably active and fight the cruel mathematical equation that occurs when age increases while fast metabolism packs its bags and moves to another zip code.

That’s why I’m there.

I exercise because I know I should. I lift some weights and maybe do some cardio. I sweat and complain and then go home feeling slightly better about myself.

And, occasionally, I convince myself that exercising for an hour has somehow earned me the right to eat something that completely negates everything I just accomplished.

It’s called balance, people.

So yes, there’s plenty of entertainment to be found at the gym once you make it safely through the locker room.

The Jocks, Posers, Influencers, Talkers. And then there’s the rest of us poor bastards just trying to keep gravity from winning.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, someone has been sitting on my machine looking at his phone for twelve minutes.

I need to go scowl at him.

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The Seventh Echo is available now from 
Adverse City Publishing
© 2026 James Wood