Steven Corfe writes:
Break out the sanitizing wipes – I just found out Paris Hilton goes to my gym. Or at least she did last night. I had just parked in the 24 Hour Fitness / Arclight Hollywood structure, when a blue Bentley pulled into a space two cars down. A screeching of tires followed, before half a dozen paparazzi vehicles pulled to a stop, clogging the roadway as they jumped out to snap Paris emerging from the Bentley with a buff personal trainer type. I watched from inside my car, waited a few seconds, then sheepishly followed the clusterfuck across the length of the parking structure, at a safe not-wanting-to-be-on-the-cover-of-Us-Weekly-in-my-manky-gym-shorts distance. Damn, she moves slowly. Once inside, Paris disappeared into the clothing store, the paps vanished, and I headed to the locker room figuring that would be that.
But five minutes later, mid-Elliptical Trainer, Paris walks in front of the row of machines I’m sweating it out on in head-to-toe new gear, pulling tags off her top. I turn to the guy on the machine next to me and we laugh at the fact she is wearing sunglasses inside the gym. I give up on my cardio one minute later (I was tired, OK? I ate a big lunch) and headed upstairs to the weights. Sure enough, Paris with sunglasses on face and trainer on arm follow upstairs in a few. The trainer guy seats her on a bench, stretches out her arms high above her head, while all the surrounding gays kind of ogle. At this point I admit I had stayed on the Quadricep machine a little longer than is normally my routine, since it had a good view of the unfolding spectacle. Paris then does about four half-assed bench presses, before sitting down again to chat to trainer guy. I begin to suspect she’s not really into this whole exercise thing.
Then, across the way, I notice a guy sitting down on the Pectoralis Major machine dressed in jeans and black shoes. He pretends to pump some iron. This is suspicious as everyone knows the Pectoralis Major machine has been out of commission for the last six months. Suddenly, the dude pulls out a telephoto lens camera from his backpack and starts snapping away at Paris while she’s mid bench-press! A couple of gays shriek and point at the photographer, and within a few minutes he is escorted from the gym by a staff member. So sorry, Paris, if your premeditated image rehabilitation photo opportunity got interrupted (I mean really, 24 Hour Fitness, at 7PM, with all the workaday monkeys lining up for machines? I smell spin) but as any gay will tell you, getting caught in a photo mid-lunge with large sweat stains under your arms does NOT a pretty picture make, even if the focus is on the glamorous heiress in the foreground. And no self-respecting gay was ever going to risk THAT happening.
– Steven Corfe
(Photos via TMZ)