To the gym…

I usually try to go to the gym twice a week.  But, the second time my body doesn’t want to go, it finds excuses to do something else.  I usually go for an hour’s workout, using a series of fiendish machines that look as if they could tear your kishkes out. They usually render me in pain and semi-conscious, but I still go and submit my body to their mercies because I am told it is good for me.
When I joined I am sure they promised me that going there would make me younger and more handsome.  Neither of these things have happened, but when I complained to the management and asked for a refund, they refused.  They told me, with a smile, that if I try harder these things could happen, but they make no promises.  I see these muscle-bound young men  bouncing around at the gym, but, I have been unable to resemble them.  And I see these lithe young women throwing weights around that I cannot lift, its embarrassing, but they also keep me coming back.  Finally, as I leave they usually have a chocolate cake or something sweet to keep me alive after the work-out.  That’s the main reason I go. 
There is one young woman who is outstanding.  I heard the women at the desk gossiping about her, in Hebrew of course.  So I asked them to translate and they said derisively “they are false, they are transplants.”  I spend much of my time there trying to guess which ones are real and which are supplemented. It’s hard telling the difference, but of course I can’t ask, even if I could speak Hebrew or Russian. 
What else can you do when the object is to render you mindless, staring into space and counting out …8, 9,10…I also do the ski elliptical machine for 10 mins and the treadmill for 10 mins.   I could be strolling somewhere nice instead of numbly staring at the TV screen and listening to loud rock music.  But, this is part of life too, as pointless as it gets. 
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