Since I happen to think that cake and marshmallows are two of the essential food groups, it’s pretty important that I hit the gym on a regular basis.*
*When I feel like it and am not busy eating cake and marshmallows.
Which means that when I go to the gym, I’m going to burn as many calories as humanly possible**. I’m not going to flirt. I’m not even going to make eye contact with people, just in case they might later recognize me in public after having seen me at the gym.
**So I can eat cake for dinner.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. I have cute workout clothes. They make me feel perky and healthy and dedicated to running.
A miracle, because I hate running. I hate it with the fire of a thousand suns.
And everything goes well for a little while. Running feels freeing and joyous, and I periodically think I must look very charming and possible flirt-with-able.
But then things take a turn.
And then things start to get sweaty…
And by the time I’ve successfully finished my run, I look inches away from death.
And guys, I am not the only one. The gym is full of people who look like they might have a stroke at any moment, smell like a melting foot, and are huffing and wheezing like asthmatic bears.
This is not conducive to flirting.
And yet, every time I go work out, I see women batting their eyelashes at weight-lifting men, and men flexing extra for women strolling on the ellipticals****. This is not what the gym is for, people.
****And men flexing extra for other men while lifting weights. That happens, too. None of you are off the hook here.
It’s for looking like you might die so you can have wine and cake for dinner.