We moved into a new office last week. Monday was our first day at the new Headquarters, and I have to say, this place is pretty sweet. The overall quality of the building is on another level than our last one, and we have two and a half times the space that we used to. The property is really nice, too, very well landscaped and tucked away among the tall oak trees of west Austin. It’s just a better place, all the way around. On a darker note, I’m really going to miss Peaco, our mildly threatening, aggressive-toward-children, but oh-so-lovable peacock. He was an asshole, but he was our asshole. I’d like to stop by soon and say hi to him, but chances are he won’t remember me, not because we didn’t have a real connection, because we did, but because his brain is about the size of a peanut and I seriously doubt he’s able to retain the adequate and cognizant facial recognition to identify me. Dude’s memory is probably terrible, so it’ll likely get all awkward when we finally lock eyes and he turns away nonchalantly, and my heart will break. I can’t handle that right now. Plus, that damn bird never really liked me anyway.
Back to our office and how legit it is: one of the amenities I’m most excited about is the in-office fitness center on the first floor of our building, right under TFM HQ. It’s not an elaborate setup or anything. It’s similar to what you’d find at an upscale hotel. It’s got a couple treadmills, a couple ellipticals, a rack of dumbbells, some flex mirrors, a TV, one of those huge bouncy ball things that I don’t know how to use, and a multi-purpose weight machine. Adjacent to the weight room is a locker room, equipped with a shower, lockers, and a shitter. It’s a surprisingly nice setup.
I used the fitness center last Thursday morning before work for the first time. Really enjoyed it. It’s great to get a good pump in before starting your normal daily routine. It just sets a go-getter tone for the day. I especially enjoyed a certain interaction I had with a man who I can only assume was an office weight room regular. As I was about halfway through my workout, really in the zone and feeling good, this guy came and hit me hard with the reality that A) although I was in a weight room, this is a building with real professional business people in it, and they are likely disgusted that a young, startup comprised of 20-somethings moved into their territory, and B) this was his world and I was just living in it.
He was an older man, probably in his late fifties. He walked into the weight room wearing what I assumed were his work clothes: a button-down flannel shirt tucked into stonewashed jeans, standard, brown leather belt, and some all-white, old man tennies.
This nerdy veteran of the office fitness center walked in casually, surveyed the room, and shot me a subtle, yet methodical eye-fuck before walking into the locker room, presumably to change clothes before working a couple sets in or banging out a walking mile on the treadmill. A few minutes go by and he exits the locker room, and, get this, he’s still wearing the exact same clothes. He didn’t even untuck his flannel button-down. Ruthless. As he was stacking up power moves as high as his bellybutton-high beltline, and I was simultaneously retreating to a less-threatening corner of the room, he walked straight up to the machine I had just vacated literally seconds before, assessed all the settings I had set for myself, decided he was okay with exactly none of them, then, without a flicker of hesitation, changed every single one of them — he changed the seat height, the seat tilt, the angle of the handle bars, locked them in place, and of course, the weight setting. He displayed absolutely zero regard for my presence in that weight room, and I have to admit, I was impressed by it.
He customizes the whole damn machine, takes his seat, then pumps out a set of about 12 of the most ridiculous-looking extreme inclined bench press-type reps I’ve ever seen. His range of motion was only about six inches and he did them at a rapid fire pace. Guy was an animal for the eight seconds he was pumping, then he stopped. “That was damn impressive,” I thought while plotting a plan to attempt working in without upsetting him and altering the natural order of the fitness center hierarchy. It would be a challenge.
What happened next would leave me stunned, bewildered, and in complete awe. This old man just got up and left, presumably back to his office and back to work. Just gone. One and done. “What is happening? Where is he going? Will I be able to find my original settings? Is he coming back? Did he just reaffirm my place in the office building as his bottom bitch?” — these were the thoughts running my mind at 100 MPH. But I only knew the answer to the last question: that answer was yes.
With decimated confidence, I half-heartedly finished my workout, sullenly took a shower, and went on with my day amid the stark reality that the old-timer in the flannel button-down owned my ass. He won our first encounter, hands down. However, it won’t be our last.
I’m coming for you, old man.
On my quest to stake my claim in the office fitness center, I’ll be using a service called JackedPack. JackedPack is a subscription service that helps you discover the best products in sports nutrition. They then send you the products to sample every month. Without throwing money away on expensive products that might not be the right fit for you, try out samples of the best products first.