Maybe it’s because I’m extremely petty, but it always pisses me off to see women wearing make-up and matching sweats at the gym.
When I was at PBA I avoided the gym like the second circle of Hell because the majority of the girls there only went because they were on a mission.
And that mission wasn’t Operation Thunder Thighs (that’s my mission), but more of the Mission MRS variety.
Goodness, I am judgmental.
Even now nothing makes my blood boil so much as seeing a woman taking up valuable space on a treadmill in her short shorts and matching sports bra that she got from Victoria’s Secret. I wouldn’t be so mad if she were actually doing something on that treadmill besides walking 2.3 mph. That shouldn’t even be a setting on a treadmill. If the world worked the way I think it should there would be five speeds on a treadmill:
1) I’m Planning On Eating a Cookie Later
2) My Jeans Are Too Tight
3) She/He Dumped Me For Someone Else
4) Good Golly Miss Molly This Is Fast
5) Jesus Take The Wheel Cuz I’m Gonna Die
But back to the subject at hand.
The few times I did go to the gym I always left feeling like there was no justice in the world. I would toil and sweat and run like a maniac trying to do something good for myself while some chick in tight pants wiggled like she was on a runway. We could not have been more different. Her hair was slicked back into a high ponytail. My abomination of a mane was tied into a lopsided bun. Her shirt was form fitting. My shirt looked like a cocktail dress it was so stretched out. Her sneakers matched her iPod. My sneakers matched dirt. She looked like Bar Rafaeli. I looked like Chaz Bono.
I thought that I was one of twelve girls (my friends) who felt that the gym was a place to, you know work out, but today I met two more.
And we need to be best friends.
After work I decided to take Bella on a long walk along the Intracoastal. My knee was bothering me so running was out of the question. I figured I’d give it a break, but try to stretch it out this way I could run on it in a day or two. We were walking along, me listening to The Script, Bella sniffing everything and rolling in…I don’t even want to know, when I heard two runners coming behind us. I moved over the side and they gave me a wave as they passed. They were two women, jogging at a decent pace, with sweat pouring off of them. Their hair was a mess and flying all over the place. When they got ahead of me, I noticed that one of them was wearing a shirt that said, “I don’t GLISTEN, I SWEAT!”
If it hadn’t of been at all creepy, if my knee hadn’t felt like it were about to explode, and if Bella would have been down for it, I would have run after those women yelling, “Wait! Let’s be friends! We’re kindred spirits! My name means ‘terrific man!'”
I would have yelled that last part because it’s a conversation starter.