treadmill carpet bomb

I've been to many gyms in my life, from fancy to not-so-fancy. My objective and goals have changed over the years, but the lessons I learned early in life are still there: people don't clean their equipment thus you clean before and after, free weights inexplicably allow grunts and yells a la Monica Seles, and sometimes people just stink (a lot). The character of a particular gym, of course, depends upon it's denizens (the ones who don't clean, yell, and stink), but ultimately the people a gym attracts is tied to its equipment, classes, and locker rooms.

I've been rather happy with the tiny low-rent gym I've been going to over the last 6 or 7 month. There are no classes, no fancy locker rooms, and the free weights mingles with the machines. You avoid much of the BS of fancier places, though you still see the guy still stuck in 1989 climbing out of his Camaro to lift weights and grunt (hair gloriously flowing down over his face) as well as some women who should really be going to the pizza place next door for a slice or two (and a new relationship with food and exercise). Anyway, I can move about doing as I please for the most part. Yesterday, however, reminded me of something I hadn't seen in awhile. The sweat carpet bomber, individuals who make profusely sweaty people seem like amateurs. Now, I'm not trying to say I don't sweat, but yesterday my only treadmill option was right next to a sweat carpet bomber. Dude had at least a 3 foot radius of sweat. I'm being conservative in my estimate. I'm usually not so squeamish about such things, but I was clearly in the path of destruction. I was mentally unprepared. Maybe those Cave Men running around NYC have the right idea after all. They would have just thrown a rather large stone at the carpet bomber.