Health spa revelations

"Man is a puny, slow, awkward, unarmed animal."

--Jacob Bronowski

Though I'm a guy who, when he was in school, always hated PE class,
for the past several years I've been a member of a health spa. I enjoy
the ritual of going to the gym. The ritual, I said. The actual
exercising, I hate Always have, always will.

But going to the gym gives me a chance to mingle with my fellow man
in a kind of, well ... manly way. Still, sometimes I find it hard to
relate to my fellow gym-mates. They're weird.

Now maybe I'm wrong, but I'd swear that these folks spend more time
preening in front of the mirrors -- flexing the old biceps and stuff --
than they do actually working out. Honestly, never have I seen a bunch
of guys so in love with themselves!

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One thing I wonder when I watch these guys is, don't they ever think
about the fact that they're going to die? I mean, it might seem silly to
you, but really -- what's the point of fawning over a body that's going
to grow old, rot, and eventually wind up in a box?

Now I didn't say, what's the point of being healthy? ... I said,
what's the point of all this body beautiful business? See, the thing
that bugs me about this whole health craze is that it has practically
nothing to do with being healthy, and everything to do with narcissism.

The '90s is the generation of the narcissist. And they don't let you
forget it for a second. Every time I turn on the TV, I'm confronted with
some stupid aerobics bimbo. Or that unctuous little toad, Richard
Simmons (where they dredged that fruitcake up from, I'll never know). If
it's not that, it's some dumb movie with Arnold Schwarzenegger or Sly
Stallone rescuing Vietnam vets where everybody has their shirt off
during the entire picture.

But I'm getting away from my point here. I've told you what I don't
like about the gym -- the exercises. What I do like about it are the
people. My favorites at the gym are the old guys. They never work out
much. They just take a little dip in the pool -- maybe a sauna -- then
they spend the rest of the time in the locker room shooting the breeze.
It's great listening to them talk about their trips to Florida and
Vegas, watching them shave, or powdering their wrinkled old butts with
talcum.

I don't know ... there's just something about old guys in locker
rooms that really kills me. In a nice way, I mean. Somehow it reminds me
of places like Chicago or Detroit or Cleveland -- places where everybody
isn't always trying to be so stinking beautiful.

Another thing I noticed about the men at the gym. For some reason,
when they're working out, they all seem to be smiling. Actually, it's
not areal smile. It's more of a grimace. Frankly, I can't tell if
they're smiling or grimacing. I really can't. I've tried to do it
myself, but I can't pull it off. Along with those stupid belts that
people wear -- you know, the ones that don't actually do anything -- the
grimace-smile is a mainstay of the modern workout. If you don't do it,
forget it!

As you can tell by now, I'm an inveterate people watcher. It's one of
my favorite rituals. So the other day after I got out of the gym, I was
sitting in my car in the parking lot (which is adjacent to a Ralph's
Market) doing exactly that. Then I noticed something peculiar. For some
reason, everybody that goes to this particular supermarket is deformed
in some way or another. Oh, I don't mean hardcore deformed -- hunchbacks
or that kind of stuff -- it's just that their bodies aren't very good.
Maybe they're pigeon-toed or they have slumped shoulders -- stuff like
that.

Anyhow, I was sitting in my car, listening to this evangelist on the
radio and watching the Parking Lot People (another ritual I like).
Outside the gym there were a bunch of Spa People hanging out. The Spa
People -- I guess we should call them Spa Snobs, really -- were totally
ignoring the Parking Lot people. They acted like they didn't exist or
something.

I felt sorry for the Parking Lot people, pushing their sad little
carts with their bags full of Spam and Spaghetti-O's and stuff.
Moreover, the Spa People bugged me, with their big old dumb biceps and
those Walkmans strapped to their heads and their stupid grimace-smiles.
I kind of wanted to tell the Spa People that they should be nicer to the
Parking Lot People. I mean, heck, for all they knew, they might even
be Parking Lot People some day!

As I was thinking this, the evangelist on the radio said something
about how we should place our glory in Heaven, not in the things of this
world. And for some reason, right then, I really understood what that
meant. I mean, you can have a great body or a medium body or even a
terrible body -- but in the long run, what difference does it make? It's
what you do that counts, not the package you're carrying around.

Suddenly I felt better. I stopped feeling sorry for the Parking Lot
People and stopped being mad at the Spa People. I got out of my car and
headed over to the market to pick up a bagel and a Dr. Pepper. I figured
I'd work off the calories when I went back to the gym. And even if I
didn't, well -- when my time is up and I show up at the Pearly Gates
carrying a couple of extra pounds -- I'm pretty sure that God won't hold
it against me. I doubt if that kind of stuff much concerns Him. Now I
suppose that some people might call that a rationalization. But, at
least to me, it seemed a lot more like a revelation.

GOLDMAN HOOH HAH: News from the Goldman front ... As you know, I've
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And that's it from the Goldman hype-mobile this week. Thanks to all
of you for the hundreds of letters we've received, and also for the
submissions of your guest columns and books to our publishing division.
You can be sure we will get to each and every one of you, but please --
be patient. We only have one reader at this time ... and the poor girl
needs a new pair of glasses. So hang in there and see all you
chowderheads next week!!!