Welcome back sisters! Summer’s here and you know you need to look gorgeous at your ex’s wedding and in that random party photo album on laowai.com. Of course, I look good 24/7, 365.  I gotta shine like diamonds in the room, always. But I don’t fuck with bird’s nest or plastic surgery as you already know. My secret is simple: drink lots of water, exercise, and maintain my happiness. But unfortunately, some lames at the gym pretty much ruined my daily happy workout routine and I had to find another solution. These are the guilty parties.

1. The Bros Who Moan

These bros don’t have dayjobs because their mom probably owns three apartments in Catland, so they’re at the gym all afternoon every day. After chain-smoking a few cigs in the toilet, they start their three-hour routine with a twenty-minute WeChat Moments warmup on the one machine I need. After another thirty minutes of bullshitting with their bros, they’ll do a set of exactly 12 reps on the bench press, yelling out a random English word or phrase with each rep.

“1…2…3…OOOOOOOOOOK FUCK!”

Also, their boy will help him with 11 of those 12 reps. And you can forget about that bench getting cleaned off. They’re all allergic to towels, honey. After that, it’s time for every Moaning Bro’s favorite game: Who Can Throw The Most Weights on The Floor While Moaning The Loudest. Their other hobbies include casual sexual harassment, showing their balls whenever possible (so I’m told), and trying to one-up any foreigner in the gym, because miànzi. Worst.

2. The “Personal Trainers”

Most personal trainers (PTs) either look like they’ve never worked out a day in their life, or like they just came back from shooting-up some Taobao steroids in the alley. Either way, their favorite squat is the perch squat, and they have the worst pick-up lines.

PTs love teaching dangerous techniques, like jumping up and down while holding barbells over your head, stretching to the point of pain, and even running up and down staircases with your eyes closed (to build trust in zìjǐ). You will never see them without a phone in their hand, but don’t EVER give them your phone number, because they’re gonna call you more than your crazy ex-boyfriend Ricky who moved to Bangkok.

If a PT sees you doing a technique they’re unfamilar with, like a chin-up, they’ll run over, tell you you’re doing something wrong, and offer to “teach” you at an hourly rate higher than most English tutors. Then they’ll try to talk to you about your “diet”, but honey you can’t take nutrition advice from someone that lives off fried rice and Báishā cigarettes.

3. That Played-Out Mixtape

Kind of a misnomer, because my gym’s mixtape isn’t even mixed. He’s definitely tired though, because he’s been working 14-hour shifts every day since 2012 without a single break. I block out what I can but still rememember the following:

– a trap remix of “What’s Going On”, by 4 Non Blondes

– some bullshit they were playing at Stormy’s Festival 2013

– 88LouieXIII Bar’s electrohouse remix of Akon’s “I Wanna Fuck You”

Urgh.

4. The Lewd Sauna Ayis

Sure, these ladies may look nice and proper when they’re wearing their high-heels on the treadmills, but behind the doors of the ladies locker room, their vibe turns way darker. They post up in the sauna for hours, wrapped in plastic like some kind of fetish website. They’re spread eagle on the floor, scrubbing the skin off their backs, munching on tea eggs, and shouting all the secrets of their friends and neighbors. Here’s something I heard the one time I wandered in there: “Did you see that girl with the foreign boyfriend? Ó yō! Her pussy must be destroyed!”

Sauna Ayis basically treat the gym like their home, and they all possess the superpower of being able to talk and hear each other no matter how loud the background noise is.

5. The Hairdryers – Catland’s #1 Victim

I just feel real bad for them. These folks are actually working harder than anyone at the gym. And like veterans and refugees, they have witnessed upspeakable horrors. #PrayForTheHairDryers

OK so I quit the gym. Sold my membership card to someone named Vivian. But I still look fine as hell because now I just work out at the elderly folks gym outside in the park across the street. There’s birds singing, sunbeams shining, Ayis dancing, and best of all, the membership is free! Now, instead of looking at some upper middle-class folks staring at their phones, I just watch the grandpas happily hit the trees with their back as they fix their qì. And I’ve never felt better.

– Relationship Counselor Rabbit

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