I started my new boot camp class a couple of weeks ago, and found myself in the middle of a gym drama. The woman who had taken the previous weeks’ classes, which I had enjoyed, turns out to have been a fill-in for another trainer, who arrived this week. I met one of my co-exercisers on the stairs, who said, “Oh, Cherie’s back,” with a roll of her eyes. “Cherie?” I asked. “Yeah, she’s the normal trainer, but Daniela was way better.” This did turn out to be true, and the new trainer was fairly unengaged. She also filled the room with a cigarette smoke halo, which is kind of weird for a fitness trainer. Seemed like a very nice person though.
Anyhow, afterwards, all the gym girls congregated for coffee while Cherie got a talking to from the gym manager. Suddenly, all the women were excitedly speculating that she might be being fired.
Cherie joined us for coffee, a bit teary, to report that she’d been told to stop talking so much and to give me heavier weights.
Suddenly, all the women were shocked. How could he do that? Doesn’t he know they all love Cherie? In fact, they’d all stop coming if Cherie left. When they saw that hot young Daniela, they just wanted to give up. Clearly Gym Boss doesn’t understand women.
Well, by the end of that, I felt like I didn’t understand women either. To be more honest, I understood all too well, and the scenario was all too familiar. High school. Groups of girls. The bitching and the sucking up in rapid-fire succession. Wanting to get Girl A on side by supporting them, then wanting to bond with Girl B by tearing Girl A down behind their back.
It tastes sweet at the time, but leaves a nasty after-taste. Like a spoon full of aspartame.