Please excuse me if this column is a bit more disjointed than usual. I’ve just returned from the gym and I’m exhausted. Not that I was actually able to lift any weights. Most of my time was spent peering over the shoulders of total strangers wondering if they were ever going to get off the equipment I need.

It’s stressful, enervating and of no cardio–vascular benefit.

If you have ever wondered just how long the average New Year’s resolution lasts, I invite you to take a census at your neighborhood gym at 6 p.m. on the first Monday of January and then repeat the count on the last weekday of February. Two months is usually the duration of all but the most committed “I’ve got to get back in shape/lose weight/resemble–my–eHarmony–description” resolvers.

In the meantime, the gym is hell–on–earth for the regulars. It was bad enough in the old days when these newbies cluttered up the floor and wandered around like suburbanites trying to buy crack in D.C., but it’s much worse today when many of the newcomers are accompanied by their personal nanny, er, trainer, which only adds to the crowd.

Sometimes I feel sorry for trainer customers.  Some geezer comes shuffling in with a very simple goal: gain just a few days on Father Time. He’s new and unsure, so he rents one of the staff trainers to get the latest update on weight training.

He’s thinking a little time with the dumb bells, a few minutes on one of those things that look like a time machine and then hit the steam room. But much to his surprise, before he knows it the trainer traps him in a routine where the goal is to audition for Cirque de Soleil.

Here’s a hint for beginners — if your new routine involves big squishy balls, a great deal of leaping, squishy hemispheres, block & tackle, balancing on one leg and more spotting to complete your session than Ringling Bros. requires for the trapeze act; you have just joined the full employment for trainers club.

Surviving those ultra–complicated workouts requires constant close supervision that can only be provided by your highly trained, expensive trainer.

Which is why my workout routines are simple and involve no hopping or leotards.

The resolver crowd is new and can’t be expected to know all the ins and outs of gym etiquette so here is a brief guide for weight room behavior.

First, the low upholstered pieces of furniture that look like portions of a bleacher are called weight benches, not wait benches. So if your big behind is not engaged in some sort of physical activity, stay off the bench so others can use it to exercise.

I’ve lost count of the number of new gym patrons (women, pay close attention) who think these benches are marvelous little conversation nooks.

These social butterflies pile their “hydration” bottles, extra tops, spare earbuds, cell phone, keys, jackets, headband, current issue of Cosmo, hand sanitizer and leg warmers in some sort of fitness compost heap on one end of the bench, while they sit and chat at the other.

This behavior is bad for my blood pressure and does nothing for your ‘pones.

Another common beginner faux pas involves returning weights to their appointed place. You’d think a generation that spent their formative years stacking blocks in America’s largest minimum–security internee institution: pre–school and day care, would be able to repeat the process with a weight. But they can’t make the connection.

Every gym has a weight tree where you are supposed to rack the plates after use. The trees are usually triangular and, for center of gravity reasons, the lightest weights go on top and the 45 lbs. plates on the bottom. Judging from the trees I’ve seen lately, modern weight stacking has a lot in common with breast enhancement because both results are usually top heavy.

The final advice involves using the machines. Frequently a resolver will be reclining on the exercise apparatus between bouts of motion — either mentally picturing the explosion of unseen activity in their formerly apathetic muscles or zoned out on the iPod — when they will be startled out of their reverie by another member silently looming over their machine like a vulture.

Two important things to note if you find yourself in this situation: the member starring intently is not a stalker and it’s not “your” machine. They want to use it while you are resting. In this situation you are expected to ask, “would you like to work in?” If they want to do so, you get up and they get on.

Remember these three tips and you may be missed when your resolution finally wanes and you stop going to the gym.

Michael R. Shannon is a public relations and advertising consultant with corporate, government and political experience around the globe. He is a dynamic and entertaining keynote speaker. He wants you to share the machines and can be reached at michael-shannon@comcast.net.