Gym Reflections

One of my more matching outfits while being beat by Amos.

One of my more matching outfits while being beat by Samuel the Amish guy in a 5K.

During the winter time, I’m a wimp so I go to the gym to workout rather than running in the cold.  Normally, I choose hours that only coincide with the 70+ crowd because the place is quieter, the people are more fun to chat with and it fits better with my schedule.  But on occasion, I find myself as part of the 25-40 gym rat group that is going there to hook up or to impress everyone around them.

On a few occasions, I have gotten the obvious look over–not to be mistaken by the non-obvious look over out of the corner of the eye, or the obvious look over after the girl has already walked away to see if the legs and butt match the face. No this is the one that’s right in front of you with eyebrows and the up-down head movement followed by a smile or some sort of tongue movement.  It is then accompanied by oily “hello” or some kind of dumb question.  If it’s a dumb question, I give them a matter-of-fact answer and walk away.  If it’s a “hello,” I go into what I like to call my dead fish phase.  It’s the “hello” in response but with the unfocused eyes, not quite looking at the guy and keeping the rest of my face slack with the excitement of a dead fish and then turning and walking away as if cousin to a zombie.  I know. I’m mean, but let’s be honest, a girl needs to have some sort of plan for sleeze.  I figured out long ago that saying “I’m married” means nothing to the men who are acting like this.

Once in awhile, you meet a guy who just doesn’t get the hint.  To him, I dedicate this letter.

Dear Male Gym Rat:

It’s flattering that you think I want to know your name and all about your job.  It’s amusing that you think I’m there to “check you out checking me out,” but that is simply not the case.  I dress in the shorts, one of the oversized 5k T-shirts that I’ve amassed over the years, bandana, and non-matching shoes because I am there to work out and not to look good doing it.  I’m not there to impress anyone.

I’m red-faced, sweating more than three of the matchy-matchy girls behind me and I probably smell too. I’m glad that I look like I’ve been working hard…because I have. You might have better luck with the matchy girls who are wearing makeup, have cute and perfect hair and whose shoes match every part of their outfit.  As a bonus, they don’t sweat–they glisten.

Also, it does not win you extra brownie points to tell me how many times a week that you are at the gym, what you lift, and how far you run.  Since you “happened” to choose the treadmill next to mine, I know that I run faster than you on my bad days (and I’m no speed demon).


The girl who doesn’t look good when she runs


So now that spring is right around the corner, I’ll be happily doing the outdoor thing.

Anyone have some funny gym stories?

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