Average Jane



The Rules of Gym Engagement (and how I broke all of them)

It was as if I willed him to come to me.

In my dingy white tank over black sports bra, my slightly-too-short red addidas track pants revealing ever so much white ankle sock… I pedaled my stationary bike with as much gusto as a fat man gnawing celery. I was thinking about him. He was my Russian… until I realized he was probably Irish. So then he was my “Tim”. (You really still expect me to be rational, don’t you?) I was thinking about how he is shaped perfectly. Triangular from his shoulders to his waist. his legs are not chickeny, not thick. His sweat glistens of his…

Zomg. He’s there. Here. On the bike next to me and my dingy white tank on red track pant ensemble. My lackluster cardio circuit had taken me from the elliptical (5 minutes) to the Treadclimber (30 seconds) to the Expresso bike thingy for XXX minutes (I have no idea. It kept resetting.) Reattempt at Treadclimber failed (knee) so I went to the stationary bike. Put the timer on for 5 minutes and slowly pedaled toward my goal…. dinner.

Until… until he came to me.

My five minutes was winding down, but I had no intention of squandering this unique encounter.

Add a minute.

Pedal pedal pedal. Wipe brow. Furtively look around. Sit up. Pedal pedal.

Shit. Minute’s up. Reevaluate. I’ve got a few more minutes in me.

Add 2 minutes.

Pedal pedal. Take off glasses. Put glasses back on. Switch song on iPod. Pedal pedal.

Conversation is remarkably … absent. Add a minute.

Pedal pedal. Glance over. Pedal. Nothing.

Add a minute. *beep* Minute. *beep* It’s not moving. I’ve run out of extra minutes on my workout. It thinks I’m done. I AM NOT DONE! I push the button over and over knowing it is beeping, hoping he’ll swoop in and save me. He does not. I clear the session and add 5 more minutes. At the VERY least, this douchebag is helping me round out my lackluster workout.

At a certain point, I’ve decided that I have embarassed myself long enough… It’s time to dismount. I can’t just let it go, though. He’s one of the 10 people I see at the gym every single day. I feel like we’re buddies… even though clearly we are not. My plan? Oh yes. I have one.

“You never workout with music, do you.” Genius. Kill me.

“No. My iPod broke. And I’m too cheap to replace it.” *sigh*

“Oh, and here I thought you were just taking your workout to the next level.” Awkward smirk.

“Nope. Just broken iPod.”

I wipe down my bike. Walk to the trash (in front of his bike) and head toward the locker room.

As I approach the locker room door and look down, still reeling from my perfectly Jane-ish encounter with my “Tim”, I notice that my headlights are ON. Both of them. Was I cold? Was there a breeze? DOES GOD REALLY JUST HATE ME THAT MUCH?!

So, here’s what I learned:

  • Stop using mind control to get boys to workout with me.
  • Never attempt witty conversation. Ever.
  • Wear thicker fucking shirts when I workout.
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Comments

  1. * Beth says:

    My headlights always turn on when I’m working out. Without fail. It doesn’t matter if it’s hot, cold, or in between. I used to get irritated by it; now I just laugh.

    | Reply Posted 8 years, 3 months ago
  2. * Emily says:

    Yeah, headlights during workouts are common for me, too. The problem is, guys don’t know that.

    | Reply Posted 8 years, 3 months ago
  3. * Belle says:

    I noticed this headlight phenomenon yesterday when I got off the treadmill. ‘Cause, yanno, that’s exactly what i need to add to my list of worries when I’m trying not to fall on my face…

    | Reply Posted 8 years, 3 months ago
  4. * Eva says:

    Aren’t headlights supposed to be sexy? Wasn’t there a Sex in the City episode where Samatha buys fake ones?

    | Reply Posted 8 years, 3 months ago


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