A disorderly collection of passing thoughts, insights, and short stories inspired by true events at my gym.
Treadmill etiquette ought to be treated no differently than urinal etiquette.
- At minimum, leave one vacant machine as a courtesy buffer between yourself and the nearest person
- Keep your eyes forward
- No small talk
- For the welfare and protection of yourself and your cohorts, under no circumstances is offering a handshake appropriate
Finding out the gorgeous man by the squat rack thinks you’re cute:
Like waking up on Christmas morning
Finding out the gorgeous man by the squat rack thinks you’re cute…when you’re in a relationship:
Like waking up on Christmas morning and reminding myself I’m Jewish
Finding out twenty-three minutes into a painfully one-sided conversation with the gorgeous man by the squat rack that the shallowest brooks babble loudest:
Like telling my entire first grade class Santa isn’t real
When a skinny woman fears weight training because she doesn’t want to get “too big”, it’s like an overweight woman fearing weight loss because she doesn’t want to get “too skinny.” Neither extreme is healthy, but it’s equally as challenging to achieve a physique on either end of the spectrum. Getting swole takes as much discipline, consistency, and determination as getting slim.
Dear “The Other Woman”:
I apologize; I’m not sure how to address you. I know your real name now, but we’ve never been formally introduced. I really know you by your code name in his phone, since evidently he’s so ashamed of you that he meticulously kept you hidden from his friends and family. In the interest of time, I’ll just refer to you as the Other Woman. Since we won’t have the pleasure of meeting, I thought I’d take this opportunity to clear up some outstanding business between us.
- I don’t hate you.
I can’t say I like you, but I promise I don’t hate you. I wouldn’t even go as far as to say I dislike you. Honestly, you mean nothing to me. Don’t take it personally, but my time and energy is precious, and I simply can’t be bothered by your existence. For all intents and purposes, I “nothing” you.
- I don’t blame you.
It’s not your fault my relationship with him ended. I know an honorable man would have respected me enough not to carry out such an elaborate, devious affair like the one he had with you. It’s not your problem he lacked the conscience or foresight to consider the consequences of his impulsiveness, and you’re not responsible for him being too selfish to appreciate how much I gave him. I don’t blame you for the fact that I trusted him too much to think to look through his phone any of the 1,524 days I called him mine. Don’t worry, I definitely don’t feel like you stole him away from me. In fact, he’s only yours now because I made the decision to give him to you. I know you might not be able to relate, but I value myself too much to merely be an option in the eyes of someone I considered a priority. You can call me selfish, but I just didn’t want to share my man.
- I think you’re beautiful.
I’ve seen a few pictures of you, and damn girl! You’re cute. That being said, I don’t feel compelled to compare myself to you. I mean, Kelly Rowland and Michelle Williams are beautiful too, but I doubt Beyoncé loses a wink of sleep over them.
- This isn’t a forewarning.
I’m not trying to convince you that he’ll do to you what he did to me. In fact, being with someone who was content to be the side chick is exactly the type of woman he deserves. Ironically enough, the purpose of me contacting you is to let you know that I don’t intend to contact you. So if in the future you’re looking for any more of my discarded, second-hand consignments…now YOU’LL have to find another woman.
“The One That Got Away”