Elvis had left for work before seven, and I considered going then, just as the gym opened. The thing is, early morning gym-goers, in my experience at least, do not spend 15 minutes trying on different shirts in front of the mirror, trying to figure out which one camoflages the stomach best while simultaneously deemphasizing the saddle bags that have suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Mainly, this is because they don't need to, while others of us (hint: me) do. So I did that for a while, and by the time I'd made my decision, it was already 7:15. By then, I figured the gym would be too crowded, and that I might as well wait until the herd thinned itself a bit.

It had. In fact, it was deserted and I'm wondering if they had anymore of a crowd earlier on. The desk staff and trainers looked a bit sleepy and out of it, and pretty much just wandered around aimlessly. As it was, the "crowd" was myself, another guy on the elliptical trainer, and the Sonny Bono II, resplendent in a pendant. He had dragged a mat into the middle of the weights area, and was sitting on the floor watching FashionTV. Every so often, he'd do some crunches, or wander over to the leg press and do a few reps or something.

At about half past eight I was half way through my workout, and a bunch more people started to show up, mainly women. Sonny Bono II sprung into action, schmoozing around like he was at a cocktail party, leaning nonchalantly against various cardio machines while he chatted with the breasts of whichever unfortunate who happened to be burning calories at the time.

Here's one reason I like my gym: Some of the women obviously had no need to spend time agonizing over their gym wear. Fair enough. That is, after all, the goal-- apart from gaining strength and stamina, and other health related goals that you really can't infer just by looking at someone, so who cares. On the other hand, some looked like they might have made clever wardrobe choices, some looked like they tried their best, and some looked like they didn't give a damn. None of them, even those with incredible bodies, wore tight little halter tops, butt floss leotards or anything that would put one in the slightest danger of being arrested for prostitution. This is in direct contrast to the denizens of Texas Gym, or even the Italians (who weren't quite as glossy in the gym as you might expect), and I think it's a Damn Good Thing.

My gym does sell little outfits like that, I must admit. But I never see anybody actually wearing them when I'm there. Those women that do (and somebody is buying them) must show up in the evenings. Possibly trawling for a mate. Which is fine by me, as long as it's not the unwritten dress code and those that will not, should not, or cannot do so are made to feel inferior by comparison.

That said, I'll climb down off my high horse and note that the Sonny Bono II appears to have acquired new jogging shorts. I wonder where he got them. I had no idea they were still on the market-- very high cut, not very sexy athough I'm sure that's what he was looking for, and made of nylon. That's why I noticed, the nylon. You could hear him rustling all over the place, and it took me forever to figure out where it was coming from. No one else seemed to notice: I suppose they're used to it.

I was at the gym so early because I had a Portuguese lesson today.

Rather, I was supposed to. However, I was given the wrong time by the owner of the school when she put me in that class. She teaches it, and does tend to be a bit scatty. Also a bit nuts-- she's the one who makes us do karaoke to Portuguese children's songs. Which can be rather fun, unless she makes you solo and, like me, you cannot sing.

Anyway, I got there just as class got out, and she felt very bad about it. I wasn't mad-- I've been messing a lot of stuff like that up lately myself. The sad thing is, I could have made it, even after going to the gym. So she made me stay and talk Portuguese with her for half an hour. She also wants me to attend an extra session (with my old, too easy class) next week to make up for it, and I'll start with the new one next Tuesday.

It was annoying, though.

Elvis is back from his trip to the gym. He seems to have hurt his shoulder last night-- possibly the rotator cuff, but I hope not-- but went anyway to do some cardio and possibly a bit of leg or ab work. He's hoping that he just overdid it a bit and there's no permanent damage, especially since he was just starting to get in to going, and it would be a shame to lose what momentum he's managed to accumulate.

That, or he wanted to ogle hot women in spandex.