So, I’m in Plank position at the gym last night (back up to a minute since my neck saga – hooray for slowly returning core strength!) There’s a guy next to me who is kind of the ladies’ man of the gym – handsome in an older, slightly balding but tan and fit kind of way, cocky, tall, outgoing-but-bordering-on-too-much-so. He was doing bicep curls next to me on a stability ball.
Anyway, I’m focusing on trying to “kiss” my spine with my belly button and then I hear, “Does it ever get hard?”
I pretended I didn’t hear him – even though we’ve occasionally flirted in the past, I was in ratty gray shorts, my knees were ashy and I just wasn’t in the mood to chat, let alone get hit on. My gym time is my gym time, and one of the reasons I belong to the club I do (though momentarily tempted to switch to a $60-a-month cheaper place two weeks ago, but ultimately deterred by their toilet paper square-sized towels and propensity to push protein supps at the front desk) is because the clientele skews older – think PTA convos, not full sleeves of tattoos. As an aside, now that I write out what he said, it looks like it sounded dirty. That’s not how he intended it – I knew what he meant and what he was getting at, and just didn’t want to humor him. So, silence.
And then, again - “Does it ever get hard?”
OK, I give. “Does WHAT ever get hard?”
Him: “Does it ever get hard…being so damn beautiful?”
Blurgh. I emerged from Plank, rose to my knees so we were at eye level, pointed at him with a smirk and said, “You know how predictable you are? I would have bet my (insert inappropriate swear adjective here) LIFE that’s what you were going to say. Bet. My. Life.”
And I would have – not because I hear that compliment (?) all the time, but because the way in which he said it, it was so obviously leading and pseudo-mysterious, what else would he have possibly said?
“But anyway,” I continued, no longer stabbing my index finger in his general direction, “yes, it does get hard. Being this beautiful, I mean. Thank you for noticing and understanding my struggle.”
We shot the breeze for a few more minutes, during which he told me about his new girlfriend, who he is head-over-heels in love with and whom he calls his little Love Monkey, even though she hates that name. “Of course she hates it,” I told him. “It makes her sound like some sort of sex slave.” Then I dissed the fact that he didn’t exactly know what his GF of six months did for a living, suggested he let (let!) her quit her job, become a full time Lady of Leisure, and have business cards made up for her that read “Professional Love Monkey.” And you know what? He liked that idea.
Do you ever get hit on at the gym? Do you love it - it's motivational, makes you feel sexy even though you're pitted out and stanky? It worked for Miranda that, er, one time on SATC.
Or does it annoy you? You just wanna get your cardio and weights on, watch some Food Network on the treadmill TV and get out.
Do tell... and answer me this, my fab, fair readers: "Does it ever get hard, being so damn beautiful?"
PS Today, MizFit is donating 10 cents to Safeplace domestic violence shelter for every comment she receives. Go talk to her!