At Weidler Street Gym, we have timid tattoos, bold tattoos and the vicious. Some vicious images appear on the mildest folks. Snarling cougars cover the guy now smiling at the old lady. He steps aside so that she can use the Cybex that is next on his To-Do list.
Some permanent inks fit the wearer. At Weidler Street, we’ve seen a beautiful design of roses entwined with thorns. These appear on the lady who can’t look anyone in the eye, the one so engrossed in self and image that she sees only the mirror. All else around her might be phantoms.
She knows not one name of fellow iron pumpers, and recognizes only the general shape and hair type of those who get in her way.
On the other side of the room, sweat rolls from the tattooed Iris, who, as beautiful as her image, watches for others, notices when someone fragile has been gone for a time. Asks after the missing and the injured.
The gentleman, whose dragon tattoo bulges as he grunts to lift the heaviest of weights, is known to have timed others at the stair-stepper and then told them it was his turn. They had had their ten minutes.
His excuse for not using the second stair-stepper? “It doesn’t keep track of calories accurately.”
After workout, Mr. Bulging Tattoo emerges from the men’s locker room as Mr. Pin Striped Suit. Nice try. We know the demon inside.
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