Gym Guy

So...There's this guy.

That's usually a fun phrase, with a good story.

This was not so fun.

There's this guy. At the gym.

Let me provide some context:

I spend a lot of time at the gym. I run. Everyday. I can not, not, be in the gym for at least an hour every day--it's psychological, and physical. It's a challenge. And it's my time.

It's my time, so I don't have to worry about looking good. I can look terrible, and run 4 or 5 miles, and that makes me happy.

I am not the girl who goes to the gym to pick up guys. I am not the make-up donning, tight tank top wearing, high pony tailed, casually glistening, gym-doll.

I am focused.

I am in smelly running shorts and a sweat-soaked t-shirt, and a hat that serves the dual role of eliminating flyaway hair and keeping my face hidden, as it takes on an I'm-on-the-verge-of-hyperventilation flush that makes anyone nearby nervously await my collapse. I'm the girl who runs until her legs start shaking and sweat is actually puddling on the treadmill.

The gym is the place where I go to run. When I run I do not care about anything else but reaching the goal I've set for myself. I don't have the energy to care how red my face is, or how tired I look without makeup, or that the dark sweat stains under my arm pits are quickly working their way out to cover my entire t-shirt. I'm too out of breath to talk or make conversation--and that's the way I like it.

Recap: The gym is my time. I challenge myself. I'm not shimmering or glistening--I'm sweating. I'm literally soaking wet and I smell. I don't feel very cute, or girly. Which is fine, because it's only me.

WHY then, is the guy at the gym flirting with me.?

Not to state the obvious here, but really, this is not how it's supposed to work.

Oh...Hello, [You were talking to me? sorry i was too busy tripping off the treadmill to hear you] Yea, I miss the old gym too. [Did you seriously just interrupt my workout to ask where the locker room is?] Oh, my name? Yea, I see you here sometimes too. Yup, I'm here every morning, 6:30 am. Oh it's not that bad, you get in to a rhythm...[I feel like someone just sprayed me with a fire hose. That smell? I haven't washed these shorts all week, or it could be my sneakers because I don't like to wear socks when I run]...Yea, it's nice to meet you too--

Oh you want to keep talking to me...

[I don't normally look like this. Generally, I wear makeup, and dresses, and straighten my hair. In fact, it takes me a good hour and a half to look good enough to walk out the door. I try hard! Just not here]

Where do I live? I'm from NY. Oh you too? Small world...

[Am I panting? I did just get off the treadmill. Wipe your face with the towel. Not that hard, are you trying to take off skin?]

Ok, nice talking to you. See you next time. Bye.

People judge. It's ok. It's a neutral thing. It's what people do, and I don't have a problem with it.
(Except when there is value added, but that's a blog for another day.)

So

Here's my judgment: He's nice. point. He has big pecs. point. He has a masters. two points. Of course he was judging me too...Cringe...Like: Does she always sweat this much? Is something wrong with her face--sunburn? Is the stammering normal or can she not catch her breath?

Fast forward to next time: I see him in the gym, I'm walking around looking lost trying to find the ab machine that they've moved without letting anyone know, and of course he looks over. I smile, wave, and run. Forget the ab machine, I'm out of here.

Maybe I should have stayed and talked to him...but who likes talking in the middle of a workout?

Maybe I'll see him tomorrow. I'll be sure to do abs first.
[And, generally, the stammering thing is pretty standard.]