This is a story about a boy meeting girl.
Well actually, let me rewind a little. This is a story about a girl. The boy will come later. And like any good story, there’s a lesson at the end. But once again.. I’ll get to that.
So anyway, a few weeks ago, I went on a date that wasn’t the date. It was actually a personal training session that I pretty much had to go to therapy over because I was so filled with anxiety about it going well. I hyperventilated the whole car ride there and gave myself a pep talk (out loud no less) like a crazy cat lady and I’m sure anyone who was driving next to me thought I was insane. Or had a bluetooth headset in. For my dignity, I hope for the latter.
And that was the beginning. Sort of.
And I guess.. since that story is now OFFICIALLY over.. The ending leaving us with a lesson we never knew existed (and that I wish I really didn’t have to learn) ..well I thought I could enrich others life with my relationship failure.
Basically, here’s how it all happened.
I’ve been infatuated with a personal trainer at my gym for probably a good solid 3 months now. More specifically, his perfect ass. I could literally watch this guy do squats all day. Which at one point, was one of the main fascinations with going to the gym in the first place. I’m not sorry about that. I’m a pretty simple person in this regard. And if a hot guy at the gym is what gets me there- well.. I’ll take that.
I also try not to limit my mind by believing in stereotypes. I like to think I give most people a chance before writing them off into falling under a category. But come on let’s be real here.. There is no way a guy this good-looking spends a lot of time reading literature right? You don’t get biceps like that by sitting in a library. Squat jumps don’t increase intellectual capacity just like dictionaries don’t give you washboard abs.
…And so with sad resignation, I had almost convinced myself to settle for watching him move around muscle than actually engaging him in a real conversation.
You’ll be disappointed I told myself. Theres a Shwayze lyric about this. (Who I also think is a highly underrated lyrical genius.. Kids got rhymes.) Basically my man shwayz says “I’m about the quality/not the price tag/better have a nice brain with that nice ass.” – a lyric I like to live my Iife by. I need a brain behind the braun. Being smart is hot. The butt helps. But always quality over quantity kids. Learn it.
So I settled on awkward eye contact. It would have to do.
And then one day, several weeks ago, the stars aligned. He stood a little too close to me as I stretched out and I thought, wellllll what’s a short conversation really going to hurt?
Well guys… he was no braniac. But he was much smarter and engaging than I had originally concluded. And I’m hardly brilliant either. But I also don’t have to be a science geek to know when there’s some chemistry present. Furthermore, I have pretty much given up 90 percent of my weekends to nanny in order to survive, so I can’t really refuse any potential contact with the opposite sex at this point.
Alright, let me back up again. All of these personal trainers (including hot guy) are essentially piranhas. Constantly trying to get you to get a package so they can start you on your training goals and change your life.. Yadda yadda yadda. I’d been approached by at least three trainers before him and while I wasn’t really interested in changing my life in that particular category I thought if I was going to actually spend time and talk with this person- I should let my personal training guard down and actually agree to some sessions.
Besides, what could it hurt?
Answer: every muscle, limb, and inch of my body. And all of my dignity.
Because this is where someone should have sat me down and kicked me. Repeatedly.
Unfortunately, no such person came along and so I dove right into one of the most uncomfortable relationships of my life.
I’m not going to give all the dirty details but basically, as the weeks progressed he wasn’t just my personal trainer. And I found myself stuck with two different people.
There was one side of this guy who was cute and funny and texted me constantly. And clearly liked me. And it was great! It was going somewhere. Where I’m not entirely sure. And I actually didn’t really care. I mean if he said meet me in the sauna I would have been there in 10 seconds.But this is now irrelevant.
Because then….. There was the other guy.
Alright. Picture this with me. There’s a person you could potentially really like. They have a lot of attributes you look for and seem to like you too. Now picture this same person, forcing you to do pushups and lift weights and do sprint circuits. You never look good in front of them. You are always sweaty, dripping and out of breath.
Oh, don’t you worry. I’m not done.
Imagine they make you keep track of what you eat and then dissect each thing scrupulously making you feel insanely guilty for every weekend splurge and that small drinking binge and I REALLY LIKE NUTELLA OK!?
Imagine that you don’t want to look like a wimp in front of them so you work your ass off trying not to show how tired you are and willing your body not to sweat knowing it’s physically impossible to will something like that not to happen but trying anyway.
Imagine them right next to your body so close you can feel every single rock hard muscle as they spot you on every exercise and how exciting this could possibly be if you weren’t so focused on if your breath smells ok and is there a coffee stain on this shirt? and it’s kind of cold in here. OH MY GOD, I’m nipping out. Wonderful. Don’t look at me. Also… how you are once again sweaty.. dripping.. and out of breath. And then, through all of this just try to feel sexy afterward. I dare you.
Oh and then if all of that wasn’t enough…FINALLY—
Imagine that on your last personal training session with this person. This person you have tried so hard to like through all this stupid subtle humiliation, begins to inform you that today… You will do something fun. And you’re thinking Goody. Because your idea of fun is making out in the locker room.
Unfortunately, his idea of fun is taking your body fat percentage.
You stare at him.
But yes.. Yes, Meg. Because this is your life.
You stand in a room full of scales as he grabs a claw-like object. You stare at it. You begin to ask “What is that fo–” ..just as he uses it to grab every. single. fat pouch on your body. You pray to God to smite you down right there. Just end it. End this please. Lighting bolt, flash flood, spontaneous combustion.. hey, you aren’t picky here. Just do it, and fast. He asks you to stop squirming. Oh and can you please move your sports bra so he can grab your back (fat)? Jesus Christ.. This is it. The most romantic moment in your whole life. Nothing will top this. Ever. Nothing like a guy squeezing your ass with a body fat claw to really just turn a girl on. You attempt to blackout this moment. Or hold your breath until you lose consciousness. He stares at you confused.
Afterward, he does some quick calculations and informs you that while your percentage is ok.. Here’s how to improve it. Great. As if you weren’t vulnerable enough in this situation, he’s now trying to talk to you about how to get rid of the fat on your body. Please sir. Continue. I’m absolutely hanging on to your every word.
…ALRIGHT Rico Suave..Just wondering but are you retarded? I realize this is your job and everything but it doesn’t take a genius to see how uncomfortable you just made me. Get me out of this room. I’m now going to have to completely reschedule my gym time to avoid you forever and ever and ever. And I’m so not hooking up with you in the locker room now.
Somehow, I survived that last training session. But it took every ounce in my body not to run out yelling about what an idiot I am.
Because the other guy isn’t enough. The cute funny, nice, hot guy on the side is absolutely overpowered by the personal trainer in him that has reduced me to feeling like nothing more than a self-conscious, unattractive overweight teenager. And I’m not one of those girls! I’m pretty secure with myself. I’m confident. I’m in control. But a girl can only take so much. And a guy who’s idea of flirting is asking what you ate for breakfast and telling you that you do cute burpees is not exactly an ideal relationship for me. (Or anyone? Are there people out there who would actually enjoy this?)
You’ll never be able to eat ice cream in front of this person. They will judge every workout you perform for all eternity. They don’t drink alcohol. They don’t drink caffeine. Their idea of fun is breaking a lifting record. And worst of all, they never got the message that all along you’d really just rather have the guy behind the personal training uniform.
So here’s the bizarre lesson I learned through all of this. Never again will I develop a crush on a personal trainer and then attempt his training schedule and a relationship. That was my bad. Believe me, lesson learned. And for those of you still thinking I should give this one a chance.. I challenge you to try liking someone after they’ve poked at your body and nitpicked at your diet with catholic-like condemning for three weeks. Try not to run away after that. Just try. I mean I guess at least I’m running.
Overall I suppose, I’ve learned to just follow my gut.
Going back to the basics–
…admiring his butt.