O MMA Fighter Guy!

I know you are an MMA Fighter Guy because you are wearing one of those bulky hats with a perfectly flat brim, rotated just slightly to the right.  You are often barefoot or in socks, despite the urging of several signs in your immediate vicinity.  I swoon knowing that this rebellious, devil-may-care attitude will mean the certain annihilation of your opponent in the MMA Fighter Guy Championship Match for which you are surely preparing. 

Most gym rats make methodic sex noises whilst they lift; three grunts of exertion with the heaviest weight and then…done.  BORRRING!  You, MMA Fighter Guy, make karate chop sounds and jump erratically in a circle around the cable machine, yanking that handle toward the floor like you’re laying the smack down – each rep a titillating hi-YAH!  I can only assume, nay, fantasize, that being in the throes of passion with you would be like making sweet love to a character from Mortal Kombat. 

I’ve seen the TV show The Ultimate Fighter and I know that there are special gyms for MMA Fighter Guys like you.  They have cages and mat space where you can wrap your legs around other MMA Fighter Guys and perform very intimate sit-ups.  I don’t know if you can’t afford a membership at one of these establishments or if you have been banished (for a sit-up faux pas?).  Either way, your presence gives me a secret thrill, and keeps alive my hope that maybe, just maybe, you are doing very fast pushups with pronounced exhales in my neighborhood 24 Hour Fitness out of … love.

TKO...of my heart.

O Social Hour Gym Guy!

You are the varsity quarterback, the dreamy politician of the 24 hour fitness.  Abs, shmabs: no fitness goal is as important as your twenty minute conversation with every single person at the gym. 

“Bob-o!  Still lifting those thirties, eh?  Ha ha, pussy.  Jake, how’s the wife?  Pause in the middle of your set to give me a superficial life overview while our heart rates lower and our muscles grow cold!  No no, just keep sitting on that bench, I’m sure no one needs it.” 

You know everyone and everyone knows you.  Your cardio is flitting butterfly-like from friend to friend…so why can’t I get you to notice me?!

Fortunately you make it easy to admire you from afar.  You occupy a squat rack with three other Social Hour Gym Guys for forty five minutes at a time; I merely need to glance over as if I’m annoyed that you are monopolizing the equipment to witness your glory!  Four boys, three quarters of an hour, twelve total reps; how easy it is to soak in your collective wonder!

Your ability to maximize your “workout” time while minimizing the actual effort you expend is awe-inspiring.  Do you spend more time with your gym acquaintances than with your family and non-sweaty friends to ensure your continued reign as Mr. Popular?  Or do I dare hope that you linger here for the better part of your afternoon hoping to catch a glimpse of…me?

O Clings to Youth Old Gym Guy!

As was your intention, I noticed.  You are NOT the same as Regular Old Gym Guy, who wears loafers and a white t-shirt tucked into sweatpants that rest just above his bellybutton like a 1950s boxing coach.  Regular Old Gym Guy knows he’s old – he does circuit machines on the lowest settings and quietly beats death – but you, Clings to Youth Old Gym Guy, there is nothing old or quiet about you.  Your spandex shorts, your dyed hair, the way you speak at a shocking volume about all the really fit, young things you still do; everything about you literally screams, STILL GOT IT!  Your biceps are beginning to show wrinkles but by god you will smooth those suckers out if you have to curl until the sun sets on the Early Bird dinner hour…NOT THAT THAT APPLIES TO YOU!

You’re my favorite gym boyfriend because you are the only one who outwardly adores me back.  I can tell by the way you stretch (but mostly flex) right in front of my stationary bike when there is plenty of room for you outside my sweat splash zone.  You approach me in the middle of my set to shower me with your flattery: HEY, HOW MUCH DO YOU WEIGH?  I’M GONNA GUESS 160!  Thanks for noticing, Clings to Youth Old Gym Guy!  It doesn’t matter how many pull-ups I do – it could be just one real one or five mostly cheating ones – you always stop to admiringly say, HEY, NICE WORK! as if you haven’t seen a woman exert herself like that since you STUCK IT TO JANE FONDA.  

My goodness your hair and scalp are such a rich, even, reddish-brown, not unlike your tan.  And that story you are shouting to no one in particular about the ultra marathon you ran last weekend is so interesting!  I may not be as young at heart as you (or as young in body either, you’d argue), but I pray you can make time between adrenaline rushes, PB Bar crawling and lycra sleeveless tee purchases…to get my pager number.