These past few weeks I have been busting my ass at the gym desperately hoping to achieve a body that I can wear a bikini in without feeling repulsive. And, as always, I came across a group of skinny freshmen bitches in tiny shorts that do nothing but make googly eyes at the frat stars power lifting at the benches. I was instantly annoyed.
I was annoyed because I was jealous that they could do three half-assed reps a week and have not an ounce of fat as a consequence. I was annoyed that their hair and makeup was done up like they were about to do an Instagram #fitspo shoot. I was annoyed because as I waddled and wheezed my way past them, they shot me disgusted looks of judgement. But most of all, I was annoyed because girls like this are the reason that guys think it is okay to try and hit on the rest of us at the gym.
I don’t know what possessed these girls to think that this was the place to meet guys. It’s nothing more than false advertisement. I get it, it’s hot to watch a man lift a shit ton of weight in front of you. Their muscles bulge and their veins stick out, and you take it as a personal challenge to make them groan even louder than the obnoxious grunts they’re doing here. That’s all great. But say you get a date, or more likely a “hangout” with one of these guys. Spoiler, they’re not going to look like that. Why? Because the only time they have that at-the-gym-pump is at the gym.
But you also make the rest of us look bad. When you spend a good hour doing bullshit stretches in your barely-there cheer shorts, guys assume that every girl there doesn’t mean business. Personally, I have a lot more important shit to do with my time than to sit on sweat drenched mats and hope to get noticed. In fact, I fucking hate going to the gym. Hate it. What is your life that you think this is the place to come for *funsies*. Hey, if you’re just a fitness freak then hats off to you. But if you aren’t working out, or at least lounging by the pool, then you can’t sit with us. I will find literally any excuse to not go to the gym. Seriously. I farted in a group yoga class once freshman year and took that as a sign from the universe to never return.
That means on the rare occasions when the stars align and I drag my untoned ass there, I’m going fucking ham. So when a guy comes up to me while I’m huffing and puffing on the treadmill asking me how my day’s going — uh, not fucking well, dude. I’m about to convert to every single religion in hopes that one of them has a God merciful enough to strike me down so I won’t have to finish my last mile. My hair is freakishly close to resembling Einstein’s, my face is red, and I’m currently drooling.
When these girls flirtatiously ask how to work out their abs to look “as sexy as yours do,” suddenly we all become helpless. Do you really think I want you breathing down my neck as I’m doing squats offering unsolicited comments? Homie, I’m just trying to keep from shitting myself right here, right now with the entire student body as my witness. I’m quite aware that my form probably is not perfect, but I highly doubt you holding my hips and staring at my ass is going to help.
Yes, I can do this set without your help and no, I don’t want to grab a post gym snack. I just want to sweat out the alcohol and pizza I have been gorging on all week and try to justify the five HUNDRED fucking dollars I just spent on new workout clothes. As for my plans for after I crawl myself out of the pits of this hellhole? They don’t involve you, buddy. They involve me, myself and a giant bowl of mac and cheese that I am getting uncomfortably intimate with. I will not, however, submit myself to any human interaction. In fact, I fully intend to ignore the constant pleas from my roommates to have mercy on their souls and hop in the shower to free them of my plague-like stench.
I appreciate that through all of this you pretend I’m still sexy. Maybe like we have an obsession with turning assholes into gentlemen, you just have a fetish for turning the diamond in the rough into a beautiful gem. But I promise you, it really is not worth the effort. And I’m not going to lie, there is some part of me that truly does appreciate the stares at my ass in athletic pants, but a much, much larger part of me is desperately trying to hide my camel toe. I know I look like I’m dehydrated, but my body is so much worse off than that. At this point, I have stopped sweating in a desperate attempt to keep all the moisture I can. My vagina has gone rouge in a desperate attempt to engulf anything that might hydrate me. I am nothing more than a wild animal in this state, acting purely on instinct. For your own safety, please do not hit on me while I am at the gym. .