You know those times where you head to the gym and you’re feelin’ pretty good? You’re on a good workout regimen and you’re really liking the way you look. Plus, all of a sudden, you had no idea your ass could defy gravity like that. Now if only I could say the same thing about my airbags. Can’t have it all, I guess. Damn you small-chested women who can get away without wearing bras. But I digress…
There are approximately three times I will venture to the gym at school: the (college student’s) ass-crack of dawn, around 8:30 am, mid-afternoon, or late-night. I’m not often a late-night-gymmer, but I chugged a venti coffee at Starbucks around 8:30 pm to fight through my second 3-hour class in a row. I hop on the elliptical, figuring I’ll catch up on SportsCenter while rocking out to my always awesome, Summer Hits of the 2000’s playlist.
Similar to classroom seats, gym-goers often stick with the same machine and if his or her routine is disrupted….it’s like, game over. Doesn’t matter if the one next to me is open, I’m going home and eating my feelings. I don’t fuck with other machines. My sweat, tears and body fat have dripped all over that machine, and you can’t have it!
Submitting myself to the elliptical 3 machines over, it’s like I was looking at the second floor of the gym in a whole new way. Approximately 30 degrees to the right, and not my good side, people. I was in front of one of the blue stretching mats and had the luxury of watching men who should avoid daylight at all costs.
I’m going about my business, 4 minutes forward, 3 backward — I’m pretty hard core — when this guy walks over to the mat to stretch. Guy was walking like 80’s popping and locking was going out of style – and dressed like it too. A loose, torn up muscle tee that hugged his muscular spare tire. It looked much more like a stomach suffering constipation than a hot bod. Combine that with a Colonel Sanders mustache accounting for all the hair on his head and I dare you to find me someone better looking. And since his sexy tank was so forgiving, I had a VIP ticket to his nipple rings as he entered the plank position.
As you can imagine, it was nothing short of a car crash — you know, you want to look away but simply can’t. The problem with that is you always run the chance of making eye contact and potentially forced to engage in banter that consists of half-panting while I bounce up and down, my arms swinging with the arm poles, beads of sweat forming across my hairline and trying to giggle coyly. I’m the real deal here, people. Couldn’t make myself sound sexier if I tried. I’m stealing quick glaces in the mirror in front of us while he’s positioned like a 50’s pin up girl and carefully examining his tittilating piercings when he catches me in the mirror and whispers, “you know you want it.”
In one foul swoop, I lost my footing on the elliptical, my towel fell, jamming the pedals and fought back nausea. That’s what I get for using a different machine. Never again.