Scenes from Home

My family has a membership to the YMCA in Chicago, which I frequent when I'm home. Our YMCA is one of the last left in Chicago that actually fulfills its original purpose as a "Young Men's Christian Association;" originally, YMCAs were built to provide inexpensive living communities for men in big cities. As such, my gym is also home to many (mostly elderly) single men who cannot afford to live elsewhere (or choose to live frugally). Because of this fact, my YMCA is not so popular with the general public; not to incriminate as I have no place to judge, but just sayin, most mothers do not want little Timmy playing Basketball in a gym he shares with men who fit the pedophile stereotype to a T.
Nonetheless, the creep-factor and pervading scent of Musk was not a deal breaker for my parents, who place practicality above all other virtues. This YMCA is close to our house, and much cheaper than any other gym near us. Therefore we've been members for as long as I can remember. Furthermore, I can say with all honesty that I've never felt threatened or more than slightly uncomfortable there- at least not enough to make me think twice about going there almost every day to get my sweat on.
However, this does not mean that my tall, blonde, running-short clad presence goes completely unnoticed when I'm there; sad, lonely eyes tend to linger a little too long, and comments are muttered that fortunately my headphones prevent me from hearing (or allow me to pretend I did not hear).
As with most things in life, I prefer color over black and white. Given a choice, I'd probably choose to work out at this YMCA over the clean, crisp, fashionable new gyms around my house. Human beings grow in the face of things that are outside of their comfort zone (notice, said thing will eventually cease to be uncomfortable, indicating that growth has indeed occurred). Also, along with color tends to come lots of great stories.
For instance, last night I found myself the only female in the weight room, being subject to several skeezy comments and the Y's poor music selection after my ipod died. I had to laugh at the delightful irony when one 70+ year old man asked me if I "come here often," and before I could answer, crackling through the speakers, I hear the seductive electric guitar intro to Shania Twain's "Man, I Feel Like a Woman."