Hey, not sure what’s going on or why you haven’t called? Don’t really have a Facebook page, I prefer meeting people in person. I’m a runner—I think you noticed. I run. And maybe it was me, it’s happened before, maybe it was me, but I could swear you were looking over. Look, I’m taking a class in spacial awareness? It’s really cool. It’s like when you study body language and how you can perceive a story between one person and his surroundings or two people from across the room and know everything about them, and only because of how they interact with the space. Guilty, I’m probably a little sensitive to space right now, so when I saw you look over at my treadmill, I figured you were like ohh, what’s this over here?
I am constantly looking over at other people’s pace. The numbers are in a bold red, they’re catchy, bright. Also, out of my peripheral it’s fun to sense how fast you think someone is going, then look over at their machine to see how far off you were (I’m also studying proprioception; not really studying, but my professor gave us a handout). I thought you were looking at how fast I was going, and 6.6 by the way, it’s about an eight minute mile.
Thank you, for entering my space. Maybe you couldn’t tell that I wanted someone their. Well, I did. Here I was running, and right next to me this very attractive woman is running, too. Hey, we’re both in college. Me? I’m forty-seven, but we’re both in a gym. Yeah, it’s a Masters program— I just don’t want things to be weird between us. I thought maybe…I took that as an opening, I made light chat about whether my machine squeaked. You said Yes. I apologized and you said it’s cool, you had your ear phones in and you barely heard it anyway. You smiled. You weren’t annoyed that I was talking to you on the treadmill. You were enjoying yourself. So I gave you my phone number. Big deal.
I’m a grown up. I go to a gym at 7:30am, I give the woman, next to me on the treadmill, my phone number. Was it too early to begin flirting? Okay, I will accept that, but we were running. Well, I was running. You were at like 3.4, that has got to be about a fifteen mile pace (I’m not judging), so perhaps that is not a fast enough pace to get the blood going, but my blood was up there, I was passing mile marker 3.1. When your blood is at mile 3.1 for eight minute miles, it’s practically 9:30pm at The Dolce Vita, three Gin and Tonic’s in. You hear me, yellow shirt? I could have spilled a drink on your chest, just kidding.
I’m a grown man. What does that mean? It means if I’m at my University gym at 7:30am, see a pretty woman, and want to leave her my phone number on a scrap piece of paper towel; that’s my business. I didn’t interrupt your workout. It even said that on the paper towel, if you read it. Did you read it? Oh my God. You just threw it out. That’s right! I didn’t tell you what it was! As I was leaving I said, I’m just gonna leave this here, and put that extra paper towel piece (which had my number on it), in your treadmill slot. As though I was just leaving my trash on your treadmill? THat’s ridiculous. I can’t belive that’s true. No, this is how it went. I gave you my number, it said let’s grab coffee, don’t want to interrupt your workout. And you still haven’t called. And I see you everyday at 7:30am and you don’t even look at me.
Please, one of us has to stop coming to the gym.