Morning people

The fitness center I belong to is not the most glamorous gym in the world. Actually, it's probably the least-glamorous gym in the world. I've belonged to some fancy gyms in my day, and this is not one of them.

In my gym, you won't find those little personal plasma TVs that you can plug your headphones into. Come to think of it, I don't think we have any TVs in the facility at all. We also have no Spinning bikes, the free weights are a little rusty, and Six Pack the Personal Trainer goes elsewhere to get people into bikini shape. Oh, and free Bath and Body Works shampoo in the locker room? No dice. However, that all-in-one shampoo, body wash and hand soap is an asset when you're looking to severely dry out your skin.

That said, I like my gym. There's something strangely comforting about it. I've grown accustomed to the musty smell, the wheelchairs on the running track, and the overflowing lost-and-found bin out in the open that looks like a basket of dirty laundry. My gym is a quarter-mile from my house, it has a perfectly acceptable lap pool without too much pee in it, and -- best of all -- membership fees are $180. Per year.

However, when you've been going to the same gym for three years, and your fellow gym-goers are down to earth and not the least bit snobby, there is one small problem: the chatty early-morning regulars. My gym is full of them. They're in the weight room, on the track, in the locker room, in the parking lot. They know everything about your business, and they won't let you forget it.

I'm not much of a talker at the gym, especially at six in the morning. But apparently, somewhere along the line, I've let it slip to some of the chatty regulars that I'm married, I own a house, I have a new job in Detroit (not anymore, but they don't know that yet, thank God), and so forth. Who knows. I don't usually remember what I say before 8:30.

There's normally nothing wrong with talking in vague terms about your personal life to relative strangers, except when it comes to people that want to talk to me...ALL. THE. TIME.

I dread walking into the locker room. "How's married life?" "How's the new job?" "How's the house?" "Why are you here late today?" (Seriously, I don't even want to get into the whole new job thing, so I let them think I've been majorly slacking off lately.) "Why weren't you here last week?" "Have you lost weight?" "Have you gained weight?" "Is that a new bathing suit?" "Did you see so-and-so this morning?" Yep, all before the sun comes up.

I don't want to be rude, so I usually give short, polite, perfectly appropriate answers and secretly pray that they'll leave me alone and let me shower in peace. It usually works for awhile, until I make the mistake of nodding "hi" in someone's direction, and then it starts all over again with the "tell me every detail about your life while I shampoo my hair."

I guess I always thought of myself as a morning person because I could force myself to wake up and actually GO to the gym in the morning, which I've been doing regularly since I was about 19. But apparently, there are Ironmorningpeople, and I'm just a 5Kmorningperson.

Maybe I just need to drink more coffee.