Feeling the burn
I’ve reached a possibly worthwhile conclusion in this week’s quest for the body beautiful: the *gym is my new target-rich environment. Think about it: you’re sober, you can check out blokes under bright lights and any eye-candy serves as a welcome distraction from the pain and suffering incurred by cardio, weights or both.
But as with any slightly lame, sorta-social activity, there are challenges. It starts out well. You crack a joke or two, the chit-chat zooms like a runaway train in the direction of gee-we-should-meet-up-sometime-when-we’re-not-all-sweaty territory … but at the fatal, do-or-die moment, you choke.
Take last week. I was on the cable pulley, he was on the barbells. Smouldering looks were exchanged. He decided he absolutely had to use the machine next to me and before I knew it, we were chatting about a) what saddos we were being at the gym on a Sunday, b) how much nicer it would be at the beach and c) how he planned to go to the beach later, dammit.
That’s when I dropped the ball. I know closing the deal is all about putting yourself out there, but saying, ‘Oh really, what beach?’ or ‘Wow, I would give my right buttock to go to the beach this arvo’, felt somewhat desperate considering alcohol wasn’t involved, meatheads were eavesdropping and we’d shared less than 50 words by the bench press.
So, muttering a feeble wrap-up line, I took my leave, still hoping for a movie moment which would go a little something like this: I’d be leaving, hair swinging; Cute Gym Guy would run up to me, glistening with sweat and panting, ‘I barely know you, but I simply can’t let you go without getting your phone number!’
He didn’t, so it’s back to same time, same bench press. And next time, hopefully I won’t be such a chicken...
* Sydney's the second most gay-friendly city after San Francisco apparently (not a bad thing unless you’re a heterosexual woman), so it’s a good day when you discover the three S’s at your gym: Single, Sexy and Straight. Mine has all three, bad sadly, not in great quantities.
But as with any slightly lame, sorta-social activity, there are challenges. It starts out well. You crack a joke or two, the chit-chat zooms like a runaway train in the direction of gee-we-should-meet-up-sometime-when-we’re-not-all-sweaty territory … but at the fatal, do-or-die moment, you choke.
Take last week. I was on the cable pulley, he was on the barbells. Smouldering looks were exchanged. He decided he absolutely had to use the machine next to me and before I knew it, we were chatting about a) what saddos we were being at the gym on a Sunday, b) how much nicer it would be at the beach and c) how he planned to go to the beach later, dammit.
That’s when I dropped the ball. I know closing the deal is all about putting yourself out there, but saying, ‘Oh really, what beach?’ or ‘Wow, I would give my right buttock to go to the beach this arvo’, felt somewhat desperate considering alcohol wasn’t involved, meatheads were eavesdropping and we’d shared less than 50 words by the bench press.
So, muttering a feeble wrap-up line, I took my leave, still hoping for a movie moment which would go a little something like this: I’d be leaving, hair swinging; Cute Gym Guy would run up to me, glistening with sweat and panting, ‘I barely know you, but I simply can’t let you go without getting your phone number!’
He didn’t, so it’s back to same time, same bench press. And next time, hopefully I won’t be such a chicken...
* Sydney's the second most gay-friendly city after San Francisco apparently (not a bad thing unless you’re a heterosexual woman), so it’s a good day when you discover the three S’s at your gym: Single, Sexy and Straight. Mine has all three, bad sadly, not in great quantities.




9 Comments:
At January 16, 2007 1:06 PM,
Jo said…
Hey RC, I made first post!! :)
I am disappointed in you though, you better make up for this one girl before Reality Chick turns into Reality Chicken!! :)
Cheers
Jo
At January 16, 2007 1:16 PM,
reality chick said…
I know, Jo, I know... I was too mesmerised by his muscles to act!
Hopefully I'll have a juicier update soon...
At January 16, 2007 1:52 PM,
Jo said…
Gotta admit though, think I would struggle to get myself along to the beach with him, but would somehow worm in about email perhaps and at least get an addy out of him, then you know how well u can do everything over email first! :)
At January 16, 2007 2:02 PM,
reality chick said…
Good tactic, maybe I'll slip a card into his gym bag... :-)
At January 16, 2007 2:24 PM,
Anonymous said…
Hey RC - I had a similar choke during a pool encounter with a hot guy in speedos. He asked me for some, er, swimming tips, we struck up a conversation. But then, eeek, I couldn't close the deal. Just ended up waving to him from the deep end and then heading for the showers. Never feel at my sexy best in swimmers, cap and goggles! And I didn't exactly have a pen on me...
At January 16, 2007 4:07 PM,
reality chick said…
Anonymous, that is disgraceful. Don't they make underwater pens for moments like these? :)
At January 17, 2007 2:46 PM,
Bubble Girl said…
Bugger . . . I go to an all-girls gym . . . no eye-candy for me :-(
Am very disappointed RC . . . I expect much better things from you!
At January 17, 2007 11:17 PM,
reality chick said…
Poor form, I know. But what can I say - even superheroes get bashful. I'll try not to let it happen again...
At January 22, 2007 5:26 PM,
Funny Girl said…
The gym thing has a certain charm, allowing you to sort out the smokers, groaners and bad BO blokes from the genuinely hot, not just sweaty, totty, but for me you can't beat the pool.
From the moment he drops his towel on the deck you know how much confidence he has because:
1. You get a sneak preview to see if he's packing a cockatiel in his budgie smugglers.
2. Work out instantly if he's a perve checking out the ladies.
3. See if he's carrying a tote bag, towel or ring finger tan mark that screams coupledom.
4. Know on the spot from the way his mates horse around if they still need time to graduate.
5. Tell if he's looking for love or taken by the way he throws a small child crying 'daddy' into the air from his shoulders.
5. Help you decide if there's enough back wax in the world to make you to want to go there.
But best of all there's also something about a man committed to boring themselves to death doing laps that makes him chatty.
Nose plugs, swimming caps, and flippers aside don't forget Mermen may not be wearing beer goggles but they're goggles none the less. So he too may not be feeling his 100per cent down the pub confidence either.
And would be mermaids this is where the monthly eyelash tint pays for itself!
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