Can I be kind of creepy for a second?
Okay, last night I went to the gym. As I was doing my thing on the treadmill, rocking out to Lady Gaga, I broke a sweat before I could ever run a half a mile. Why? I saw a guy, who I am calling “Gym Guy.”
Now Gym Guy traipsed into the gym in baggy gray sweatpants, a tight black wife-beater tank top. He had big, muscular, “save you from a burning building” arms covered in sleeves of tattoos on both sides. *Swoon*
I almost fell off the treadmill trying to get a better look at his butt. Plus, when he lifted his tank top to wipe sweat off his face (how manly!) he unleashed abs of glory and that adorable little V shaped pelvic trail. I don’t know how I didn’t fall over trying to get a closer look when he grabbed his MOTORCYCLE HELMET and walked out. *Double Swoon*
Tonight when I went to the gym, I hopped on the treadmill ready to get my run on and in he walks again. In sweatpants and another tight wife-beater and all the same glorious skin art. And you know what? I got “frustrated”. BUT to suppress it I upped the speed of the treadmill to “run it out” so to speak.
Why am I documenting this?
1. It’s my new inspiration to kick my own ass at the gym.
2. The “frustration” I experienced and how I dealt with it is going to act as a prelude for my upcoming blog about, you guessed it, sex.