Icebreaker Post (U.S. Women's Multicultural Writings 09-21-12).

My multicultural experience occurs every time I go to the gym, the Aspen Athletic in Driver’s Village at Cicero, N.Y. In the gym, there are several different types of people. There are the stay-at-home mothers who come religiously every morning, bringing along their multiple children to the facility’s day care, who scream and run through the gym every time they come. There are the hardcore weightlifters that look like they could rip you apart with their bare hands, who throw heavy weight around, and watch your pathetic workout from the corner of their eyes. There are the kids out of school who come to do one rep, then occupy the machine/equipment for a half an hour, sitting there resting and staring into space or pretending not to be self-conscious, while playing on their cell phones, or gather together and converse. There are the guys who have the expensive exercise clothes, and brings a gallon of drinking water every time along with their pads and papers to keep track of what exercises they did, how often, and how much. There are the guys who show up and exercise in jeans and designer t-shirts, yet work out as intensely, or more so than the average gym-goer. Then there are the starlets of the gym who come and do an intense workout in the midst of several men, each one surreptitiously studying her while she pretends to ignore all of them. Lastly there are the local celebrities. I’ve worked out next to Tom Hauf, one of the local Syracuse weathermen, and another one who I think is an anchor for one of the news stations. I have seen many people come and go, some people coming religiously for awhile and then mysteriously disappearing, perhaps from some change of job, or like me occupying themselves while they are unemployed, then either giving up the gym, or coming again at a different time. Then there are the types like me, who wish they were married to someone who could support them while all I had to do was watch the children, and my figure, more of the day belonging to myself and my children, rather than trapped in some place of employment. There are the types like me who wish they were massively muscular, and get respect wherever they go, who never have to suffer the slights of the occasional emotional or inconsiderate person. There are the types like me who wish they could go back to being a teenager, living in this day and age of more tolerance and acceptance, rather than the oppressiveness of cliques that prized the jocks over everyone else. There are the types like me who should probably put a more scientific effort into their workouts, rather than showing up and winging it every time as I do, just trying to get a quick but intense session in to keep oneself in general good health and shape. There are the types like me who wish they had an audience to ignore, who had a body that keeps other people captivated. There are the types like me who wish they had some kind of employment that made them local celebrities, all they have to do is read off of the teleprompter, looking good while they do it.