Trying to be a Good Guy

Going to the gym can be strange. I mean you have a place that actually charges you for inflicting pain on your body. Worse yet, they aren’t even cordial enough to do it for you, the pain and discomfort are self-serve.  They pump in music that no sane person could listen to without going into convulsions. Not to mention, that the joint is crawling with enough bacteria to supply those willing to wage war biologically with enough fodder to end life as we know it.

It’s no wonder such an odd institution attracts such odd folks. I ran into one of these folks recently and felt the need to share the story…

The Stairmaster was sent by Satan himself to Earth. This was done in order to warn those who will one day be chained to one in burning pits of hellfire and brimstone that they should act right. So while I was practicing for eternity the other day, I noticed a young lady on the mat area ahead of me stretching.  I glanced down from the stairwell that never ends, in my people watching way (not gym creeper way). I noticed, that she noticed my look. Instinctually, I looked away. Hindsight being what it is this did not help matters.

Luckily, I could distract myself with the intense burning in my legs as I increased the speed on the Stairmaster (I was training for eternal hellfire after all).

Through my peripheral vision I could see she was still staring. The stretching continued, and I began to suspect that she was now trying to capture my attention. Again luck was on my side, and there happened to be a Cardinals game on the television suspended above us. This game was now my singular focus, as I ramped up the intensity on the Stairway to Hell. Clever move David, as far as she knew I was a football junkie, I thought.

Still the stretching continued, presumably now focusing heavily on the gluts. I am not sure what type of workout demanded such a rigorous post-exercise butt stretch. Perhaps it is better if I do not know. However, let’s just say, the corner of my eye saw enough butt movement to label this young lady the poster girl for in-gym twerking.

 

             My feet clomped loudly on the steps as the speed again served as my distraction. The Stairmaster whirred in response and the lactic acid in my thighs served to remind me how comfortable my couch was. In my head I cheered, See look how focused I am on my workout! No time to look at you and your incredibly laborious over-the-top stretching routine.

Much to my chagrin, the stretching virtuoso repositioned herself on the mats so that she was directly in front of me. There before me, she bent and twisted like a starving circus contortionist who was working for her next meal. I stared only at the Stairmaster’s electronic blue readout. I cranked up the speed. Sweat poured off me, and I began to wonder how long I could keep this up before my heart gave out.

Thankfully, she grabbed a towel next to her, and hopped from the mat. She was headed for the locker room! Just in the nick of time I reduced the speed on the Stairmaster, before my legs turned to jelly. 

After a few moments, I had been catching my breath from both the Stairmaster and the strange routine that had just played out before me, when who should reappear but the love child from Rockette’s lead and Sawao Kato (he’s a gymnast look it up)! Where stretching ended, jumping jacks began.

The ceiling couldn’t have been more interesting. I was trying, with great determination and purpose to look everywhere but at the butt in front of me. It was then I snapped, I couldn’t take it any longer.

“Oh my God! Are you serious? You can’t be serious!” I shouted loudly, not caring who heard.

With the eyes of an innocent liar she looked up at me, “What?”

“What? Are you saying,” I waved my hands back and forth making odd motions in a desperate attempt to indicate stretching. “that was all an accident? Just coincidence?”

“Well, no some girls like to be the center of attention.” She stepped forward.

“Stay back.” Again my hands were up, this time my forefingers were crossed into the shape of an X.

“Aww don’t be shy.” She giggled. It was one of those giggles that told me I was funny and smart.

“Shy? I’m not shy lady, trust me. I have a girlfriend.”

“Maybe I have a boyfriend.” Again, a brief laugh, this one more insinuating.

“Did Satan himself send you?”

A flip of the hair, a flash of a smile, “Does it matter?”

“Yes it does.”

She paused, the façade of whatever it was she was trying to be faded for just a brief moment. “Why?” a glimpse of concern crawled across her face.

“Because I’m trying to be one of the good guys.”