Anyone there in January who doesn’t come at least twice a month for the rest of the year. We know who you are, bandwagon-jumpers.
Men whose eyes blatantly follow any female bottom as it walks through the weights room. Not in a million years, buddy.
Women sitting idly on the machines playing with their phones. FUCK OFF AND WONDER WHY HE’S NOT TEXTED YOU ELSEWHERE.
Women on machines, staring into the middle distance exerting absolutely no effort whatsoever. At least the idiot macho grunting guys are actually doing something.
Idiot macho grunting guys. If the machine has that effect on you, get a room.
Men who use machines straight after you, putting the weights up tenfold with nauseating smugness.
Men who stand behind you while you’re using a machine, an expression of “this isn’t for little girls” etched all over their faces, who get on after you and then don’t change the weights an iota. Dicks.
Anyone not breaking the faintest hint of a sweat while on a treadmill. GET OUT OF THE GYM AND GO FOR A WALK.
The nudist on display in the changing room. There is literally no need to dry your hair naked.
Men who devote their lives to the pursuit of gargantuan arms and forget the existence of their legs in the process.
The two guys blatantly eyeing each other up over the free weights. Get out of the gym and onto a date already.
People who bring their bags into the gym and leave them to be fallen over at the end of the treadmill. Locker. Room.
The girl who finds it acceptable to sporadically sing random – and entirely tuneless – snatches of songs at the top of her voice while on the cross-trainer.
Grunty guy whose intermittent yelps of strenuous effort and apparent pain put you off your stride with the dear he might be having a stroke.
Men who sneer while you wait for a yoga class. And when, precisely, did you last even touch your toes?