And the winner for longest title on this list is…
Long-winded as it may be, you know what I’m talking about. Imagine the following:
You’re doing your daily (or, weekly, whatever… no judgement here) routine. Maybe it’s a little elliptical, maybe some treadmill or you’re a bike guy. Whatever it is, it’s a Wednesday, you’re at the gym, you don’t want to be there and you’re finding the whole process a bit more draining/exhausting than usual. You obviously forge ahead, but it’s rough sledding. The songs your iPod is cranking out just aren’t doing the trick, the article you’re trying to read is mind-numbingly boring, and you’ve already seen SportsCenter three times today*.
And then, the whole world changes. You try your best not to stare, but fuck it, you realize, this whole place is a meat market anyway, right? I mean, what else are we all doing here, wearing shit we’d never wear in normal public, working on parts of our body that most people will never see… I’m going to fucking stare. And you know what, he or she—they want you to stare. Why would she wear those pants? Or that sports bra with no shirt over it? These girls say they feel gross at the gym, but they know they look amazing.**
Now, your energy is suddenly amped up. You want to stay out there on the gym floor because she’s out there. That’s two-pronged… First, you want to keep staring. Second, and impossibly more idiotic, is that you don’t want to look like you’re done working out. As if this girl is taking mental stock of who is there and how long they’ve been working out… So, you stay. And all of the sudden, those last few miles, last few sets—they fly by.
Thank you, attractive girl.
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Getting caught doing something stupid at the gym by this same person… i.e., slipping off the elliptical or not knowing how to use (or even get in) one of those Nautilus machines.
*I love it when gyms play shows on TV that need subtitling—like the news, or a sitcom—and they refuse to put them up. So it’s just people moving around on the screen. That’s fun.
**I’m sure there’s male equivalents of this, but I don’t really know what they are. Sleeveless t-shirts? Fill in at your own discretion, ladies.