Commentary

My big resolution this year was to get back to the gym and start
working out. So far it hasn’t happened.
Maybe it’s because resolutions require will power. That enables
weak-willed people like me to make New Year’s resolutions and then
move on to something else.
I used to go to the gym all the time. Why did I stop? Because
I’m a creature of habit I guess, and I got out of the habit. I was
out of town. I got a dog. It’s been raining. Yadda yadda.
Now I’m back, but I haven’t gone to the gym. I like the gym, at
least the Guerneville gym, because there’s lots of news there.
People want to keep one another up to date, so the gym is a great
place to find out what people are doing.
People at the Guerneville gym tend to be idealistic. The walls
are covered with art and little yellow post-its imparting wisdom
and inspiration.
“Breathe that life force!” says a sign on the wall next to the
treadmill.
“Heal and revitalize.”
“Start from the heart.”
“Nothing could be anything but perfect in the broader truth of
it.”
“Fun is a reflection of the greater ecstasy.”
Terry Sherman, the man who runs the Guerneville gym, has a
healthy, fit and weathered look. He’s nimble, studies yoga, and can
dance like Nureyev. I’ve seen him kick his leg above his head and
touch his toes just for joy of it.
Terry says to think about what you are doing when you move
about. Terry has a garden that grows around some of his outdoor
exercise equipment, a butt-thigh shaper, a captain’s chair, an Ab
Lounge Ultra Sport chaise lounge that looks like physical therapy
lawn furniture. The garden path is paved with circular flat weights
painted in bright colors.
“They’re chakras,” said another gym goer.
“What does that mean?”
“I have no idea.”
The really big eternal question at the Guerneville gym is who
gets to be the deejay? There doesn’t seem to be any agreed-upon
music etiquette among us gym goers. Some (like me) just endure
whatever is playing on the sound system — up to a point. One guy,
who has a dog, turns the music off if he doesn’t like it.
“I paid the same as everyone else,” he said, “So I figure I’ve
got just as much say.”
I agree. But if we’ve all got equal say and we abhor each
other’s taste in music, what then? Duels have probably been fought
over lesser grievances.
Gym music is often disco stuff that invokes the lair of the
serial killer in “The Silence of the Lambs.” And never forget this
is Northern California, ground zero for old hippies and their
annoying cultural artifacts. Do you want to lift weights and listen
to Grace Slick sing “Feed Your Head”?
There are alternatives, such as turning on the TV, but that
doesn’t always make it better. Walking on an elliptical while
watching the Rachel Ray show is a form of torture that shouldn’t
even happen to a terrorist. No wonder the world hates us.
On the other hand, isn’t this why god made the iPod? I got mine
about a year ago. My wife gave it to me for my birthday. I use it
at the gym where I listen to African pygmies and wish I could join
their band.
I don’t expect the iPod to save the world, but it can save us
from ourselves.
Frank Robertson is a columnist for the Sonoma West Times &
News, the Tribune’s sister publication.