I have always clung to something Lauren said when we first started working out together: those guys aren’t looking at you, they’re looking at themselves. You know, to make sure their biceps are symmetrical or whatever. So when I, like, lose my balance, I like to believe that no one noticed.
Dashed. One of the regulars, as I left the bench, pointed at it, made the motion of a dumbell press, said “handbell,” the word “set,” which is apparently in the Konglish lexicon, and “nebon, nebon.” Apparently he wants me to alternate four sets of the bench with four sets of the dumbell press with the dumbbells held longways.
Seriously? Were you paying enough attention to notice that I only did three sets? So now I have to go do the fourth sheepishly, like I’ve been caught at something. I make him show me how to do this variation of the dumbbell press, which looks more difficult. He exchanges the 10 kilos for 6. Says what I assume to be “Start small.” Well, if I ever do get around to making a routine for myself beyond my whimsy, subject to my desire to eat or nap, I suppose I can start with “nebon nebon.”
At least it wasn’t the guy who corrected my squat stance. Who looks like a drill sargeant. Like he’ll yell at me.