My parents do not believe in corporal punishment. Call it a throwback to their free-spirit hippy days. Though they refrained from smacking sense into me, Mom and Pop were never at a loss for ways to teach me a lesson. After rinsing the soap out of my mouth, I went to etiquette school.
At said institution, I received a book by Emily Post. For you uncouth slobs, Madame Post is to manners what Tom Cruise is to homosexual denial: the uncontested authority.
Eighty years after publication of her first manual, Post’s etiquette empire is going strong. “Emily Post’s Etiquette” is in its 17th edition. Its several spin-offs include a bible on boardroom behavior and a compendium to connubial conduct. It seems Miss Manners has a rule for everything.
Or does she? Em didn’t have a complex about her thunder thighs: She offers no insight into appropriate gym protocol. More than 300 NU undergrads listed “working out” as a Facebook interest – double that of “your mom.” This figure does not account for the countless others who frequent SPAC, Blomquist, Patton or EAC.
No code of conduct for such an integral facet of NU life? Anarchy! The only limit is on how long you can use the machines – 30 minutes.
Alas, I propose a much needed code of conduct for the gym – the love child of Billy Blanks and Emily Post, if you will.
Gymnasium comes from the Greek “gymnos,” meaning naked. While people do not hit the rowing machine sans toga, all bets (and clothes) are off in the locker room. Like a love of “Matlock,” nudity is a generational thing. There is a correlation between prune juice intake and a compulsion to achieve the Full Monte. Some professors undress in full view of students. This makes for a scarring class experience if the professor happens to be your own.
Outside the locker room, you should be outfitted appropriately. For girls, I propose a weight limit on spandex. Nobody wants to look like a synthetic fabric sausage.
For guys, a ban on lifting gloves. That is, unless tickets to your gun show would sell faster than tickets to Bob Saget. And everyone, for the love of Richard Simmons, no grey. It highlights profuse perspiration. Regarding sweat, always wipe down the machines. Let’s not be gymnasty.
Appropriately attired, you hit the treadmill, a mine field for social faux pas. I cannot stress this enough: Do not compete with your neighbor. I see you, upping the ante on your incline and speed. I gave into your sick game once and ended up becoming one with a SPAC window.
It is inevitable you will see people that you know at the gym. To this end, strike a delicate balance: Say hi. You’re in Patton, not the witness protection program.
Amanda FitzSimons is a Weinberg junior. She can be reached at [email protected].
