The other day I was driving past my old gym and it conjured up memories that I had repressed for a long time. Those memories were like a laundry list in my head for all the reasons I had stopped going to the gym - even if my money still does.

I have always loved working out. Yep, there isn't anything quit like the feeling of pumping iron and getting all those endorphins going. Well almost anything. You see, while the gym represents a better life; a life full of energy and vigor - both of which are absent from my office cubicle dwelling existence. It also is a real pain in the butt; especially, when you have to like... go.

There are really only one or two things that seem to put on the brakes every time I get up the motivation to work out. I'll have some time set aside. My gym bag on the ready, the car keys in hand, and yet there is always that little lazy voice that suggests before I get to the door that perhaps tomorrow would be a better time.

When I actually get to the gym, and get passed the membership card checker - lady (a job that looks about as riveting as being a Wal-Mart greeter) is when the real horror begins.

For the record, while I try to keep most serious social and political commentary out of my blogs; it must be noted that I am not homophobic. I just really don't like to be around hairy naked dudes in the locker room - hairy naked dudes who are not even bothering to cover up in a timely manner; hairy naked dudes who are conversing about sports - again while they're naked. Hairy naked dudes who stand buck naked in front of the mirror and comb their hair - you know the hair on their head. From the time it takes me to get dressed I feel like my eyes have done more awkward aversions than an observer at a leper colony.

Apparently, I'm the only one who not only appreciates - but finds the invention of the towel as a social necessity.

What makes matters worse is my gym has separate spas in the respective locker rooms. So, if I want to soak a little bit in the hot tube or sauna after a workout - I can't do that with my wife - again, I have to do it in the company of hairy naked dudes.

A couple of months ago I was sitting in the hot tube wearing pair of swim trunks when in came some hairy naked dude, who, with no hesitation, jumped right in the hot tube and started talking to me about the last Bronco game. I felt like I was hanging out in some Roman bath house with some guy named Publius: The Uncircumcised One.

While my wife has complained to me about similar situations in the women's locker room - I don't see how that would be the same.

Instead, I find myself only thinking about sexy nymphs. Sexy nymphs running with leaf crowns in their flowing blond locks. Sexy nymphs washing each others backsides with lots of soapy suds. Sexy nymphs giggling while playfully flinging their black, pink, and grrrrr - red panties at each other. Ahhhh, what a sight that must be - all those sexy nymphs.

So, what else do I hate about the gym? Okay, in all honesty - I guess not much else besides spending forty dollars a month to go - or not go - and all those hairy naked dudes.