Of Hot Guys and Gyms

I started going back to the gym yesterday, after about a five day hiatus. I don't usually like to go that long without some form of exercise but I had so much going on these past few days; interviewing for a new job, getting said job, starting job, that I just didn't feel like going. I tried to make myself not feel to bad, after all, I worked out for an hour every day for three months straight (with a few days off here and there but not many) and I considered myself pretty healthy. I'm sure my joints were happy for the time off.

I'm now working exercise back into my daily routine, though it's going to be tough because whereas I worked out in the morning when there was no one there I now have to go after work--like everybody else--when everybody is there. I actually had to wait for a Treadclimber machine which offended my sense of entitlement. But before I got to the Treadclimber I was on the second floor lifting weights, grunting and straining when an Adonis sits on the bench next to me.

I'm not exaggerating when I say that he was H.O.T., probably the most attractive non-actor (for all I know) guy I've seen since I've been in Los Angeles for the last three years. Two thoughts went through my head when I saw him: 1) Damn, he's hot and 2) I wish I were prettier.

I have never sucked in my gut harder.

It was weird because on one hand I wanted him to notice me, or for myself to come up with a clever come on and on the other I knew we were at the gym and most people don't want to be bothered when they're hot (soooo hot) and sweaty. I don't like it when the old guys wink at me as they pass by so I kept to myself and would just glance at him occasionally through the mirror. Thank god for mirrors in the gym btw.

I tried to think of some extra exercises just to keep me there, but I couldn't and you can only stretch for so long so eventually I did leave and head downstairs to do my cardio. And then I had to wait for that damn Treadclimber. Injustice I say.