An Extremely Petty Rant About Barbara, My Gym Nemesis
"I already loathe every second of spin class, I don’t need a fully grown only child making it worse."
Welcome to Junkee’s most pure column: Heartfelt Rants About Extremely Petty Gripes, where very funny people get mildly peeved about something stupid, such as a gym nemesis.
When Junkee asked me to write a rant about something small yet infuriating, my first thought was “This giant pimple on my chin!” But, though it was the size of a small novel, I knew I’d struggle to squeeze 800-1000 words out of it.
So, I thought about all the inconsequential things that bug me, which is pretty much my inner monologue anyway. There’s having my tweets mansplained back at me, there’s juice cleanses, there’s people who charge onto a train/bus/elevator before others have alighted — there’s the word ‘alighted’.
I struggled to decide just which petty hate to wreak my ire upon, so bounteous was the selection on offer. Frontrunners included:
“Matcha! It’s not that good!”
“Umbrellas! Why aren’t they better yet?”
“French pugs! French fucking pugs!”
But everything I thought of had either already been ranted about ad nauseam, required no more than a few words exclamation or was borderline racist.
Then last week I was at the gym, about to do pilates because I’m a white woman in my thirties, and suddenly I heard it. That voice. That voice. That horrible, nauseating voice.
I turned very slowly towards the door, and there she was: My Gym Nemesis.
FUCK YEAH MY GYM NEMESIS WAS IN SPIN CLASS AND I DID NOT COPE WELL
— Nadine von Cohen (@nadinevoncohen) February 6, 2018
Barbara: The Gym Nemesis
Yes, I have a gym nemesis.
Like Superman has Lex Luthor, Britney has Xtina and someone on Game of Thrones has someone else on Game of Thrones (I don’t watch Game of Thrones), I have this lady. Barbara.
Fucking Barbara.
Barbara became my nemesis in a spin class many years ago. I do spin a lot because I enjoy being tortured by perky blondes and riding bikes that go nowhere. Riding bikes that go somewhere is my second-worst nightmare.
Often, one of the blessed-of-glute instructors says: “This is preparing you to ride on the road” and I think, “Bitch, this is the Eastern Suburbs. No one’s riding on the road in anything but an Uber or a German SUV.”
My gym nemesis is a 70 year old woman. Fuck Evelyn.
— Ryan Hartwell (@Hartwell_) July 6, 2018
Anyway, there I was in spin class, swearing bloody revenge upon the maker of whatever EDM remix of whatever LMFAO song was playing, and suddenly I hear a scream.
”AY YA YA YA YA!”
It’s loud, it’s aggressive and it seems to have come out of a well-groomed middle-aged brunette at the back of the class (It’s coming from INSIDE the building). I chalk it up to a one-off burst of enthusiasm and refocus on punishing myself.
Then a few minutes later, it happens again.
“ARRIBA ARRIBA ARRIBA!”
And then “YEP YEP YEP YEP YEP!”
Then “AY CARAMBA AY CARAMBA!”
And so on until cool down.
It was then I vowed to murder her/work out which spin classes she goes to and base my entire life around not attending them.
This may sound like an overreaction: you may think “she’s just having fun”. And you’re right, I am being petty. But then you’ve never spent 45 minutes in extreme physical pain while an Australian voice screams pseudo-Mexican hype words at regular intervals.
I already loathe every second of spin class, I don’t need a fully grown only child making it worse.
That spin class was the most excruciating 45 minutes of my life since I watched the first 45 minutes of Garden State. And each of the rare times I’ve ended up in a class with her has been equally irritating. I tell myself to suck it up. I tell myself that everybody’s allowed to express themselves, just like Madonna said. I tell myself to be a better person.
But then she yells “OH YEAH THAT’S THE STUFF!” and I wish for death.
The Importance Of Being Barbara
I have so many questions about Barbara.
Has she always been the most annoying person in the history of the world? Does she know we’re nemeses? Is she not getting enough attention at home? Was she born in a fancy barn?
Her crimes against gymanity also extend beyond the bike. In Pilates, she’s a vocal sigher, on the treadmill she talks loudly on the phone, she never wipes down her spin bike, and one time I was chatting with a trainer and she just walked right up and started talking to him like I wasn’t there.
She. Is. The. Worst.
I just heard some really loud grunting in the gym, and it essentially acted as a bat-signal that my gym nemesis Laptop has entered the building
— Marc the Shark (@MarkcyMarc) May 2, 2018
“Why don’t you change gyms, Nadine?” I imagine you’re thinking.
Because I fear change and that would be ridiculous. Also I really like my gym. It’s small, 80% female and thus has a celebratory lack of grunting. The scant weights offering keeps dickheads to a minimum and, unlike most gyms, the Pilates and yoga is actually good.
It also counts as members a high proportion of my people — by which I mean Jews, not entitled arseholes. I mention this only so I could make that joke.
And so I stay put.
There’s a 40+ year old man that acts like he’s a frat bro at this gym and is always here when I am and I’ve decided he’s my arch nemesis
— KH3 JAN 29TH BABY (@kelsvvc) July 16, 2018
Sometimes after an encounter with Barbara, once the piercing buzz has stopped, I wonder if the universe has sent her to test me. Maybe this privileged boomer is a vessel through which I must confront my own selfishness. Perhaps learning to co-exist with her is a lesson in tolerance and humility. Does the universe want me to learn Spanish?
I soon remember the universe isn’t sentient and continue despising her freely.
—
Nadine von Cohen is a Sydney-based writer. She can usually be found on Twitter, swearing in capitals and refusing to punctuate.