For some unknown reason the gym bug bit me. I don't know what it was.
It certainly wasn't the numerous images of fitness models that covered the walls of my gym. While I never had the body of a supermodel, I was one of those lucky girls that gained fat in the "right places". Still I enjoyed the changes that took place in my body and the fact that I could buy jeans a size smaller. There was no denying the fact that my booty and tits were looking perkier than ever.
There was also something about the burn, the sensation of pushing my body to its limits that kept me returning. Perhaps there was a tinge of masochism in me. The gym wasn't there to provide a background setting for an Instagram/activewear photo shoot: I was there to strain my body.
But as to what got me going there in the first place? No idea. I only knew I was on the roll and kept coming back.
My gym was just a bicycle ride away, down in the industrial area of the town. It was one open hall that was divided into different areas of cardio, weights, functional and the more traditional gym machinery. Perhaps due to the lack of Zumba classes and the like, the gym's main demographic was a 30-year-old bodybuilding male. This kind dominated the weights area. The only ones using the normal gym equipment were the few women who frequented the gym and some middle-aged men, who had apparently decided to catch up on their new year's resolutions. This was also my playground.
After I had switched into a tiny aquamarine strap top and the new black yoga pants that enhanced my curves, I hit the treadmill, deviously aware of how good I was looking. I would always pick the one in the corner of the back row. There was something comforting about always using the same treadmill: the knowledge of how much pressure it was required to push the buttons, the vibrations and sounds of the machine. I knew it like the back of my hand. While listening to my soundtrack of Alt Rock, I'd begin at 7,5 mph and speed up steadily for the next ten minutes until I'd reach the velocity of 10 mph.
Needless to say the treadmills were the most popular equipment for cardio, and during a busy hour, they would always all be occupied. On that day, in the early afternoon, the place was still practically empty. Two older men, friends apparently, were making a brisk walk in the opposite corner.
We were soon joined by a young guy of my age. I probably wouldn't have noticed hadn't he picked the treadmill right in front of me. Perhaps the traffic light red shorts that he was sporting were to blame as well.
He wasn't much taller than I was, making him a fairly short man of 5ft 5. But despite all this he didn't come off as tiny. Underneath his dirt grey t-shirt I could recognize the definitions of large muscles that added to the broadness of his shoulders. His legs were equally as muscular. He just looked heavy, as if his diet consisted of whey protein and nothing else. Something about his entire physique reminded me of a bullterrier: his strength was likely to be impressive but curiously non-threatening. Maybe it was his blonde hair and his relaxed stride that made me think of him as a good momma's boy at heart.
He began to jog at a good pace in front of me, faster than I expected considering his stocky frame. With a long determined stride, the soles of his shoes beat against the belt moving beneath his feet. Although he hunched his back awkwardly as he ran, his running technique was perfectly in check. The enormous calf muscles bulged as if they were about to burst.
For some reason, he amused me. I imagined we were racing, that I was trying to close the distance between us and outrun him. Playfully, I increased the speed on my treadmill.
While I was throwing more fuel into the fire, he was likely to be completely oblivious to my secret game. He kept his steady pace, his eyes on the invisible road in front of him. With a mischievous smile on my face, I was gaining up on him inside my head, no longer paying attention to the timer that was only six minutes into my routine.
To my disappointment, he was done with his warm-up sooner than I had anticipated, and the conveyor belt stopped to a halt. The smile vanished off my face. I was racing, sweat slowly dripping down the back of my neck, while he had barely broken the sweat. I felt like he was slacking off, even if he still had an entire workout ahead of him. But so did I.
As he turned to step off the treadmill, I was finally able to have a good look at his face. His nose was bigger and rounder than would traditionally be considered attractive. Despite this I considered him rather handsome. The eyes were bright and pale in colouring with soft wrinkles framing them. Although he wasn't smiling, he appeared to be generally well disposed to anything and everything. I even felt a tinge of jealousy for his seemingly favourable outlook on life, for it was something a pessimist like me could never comprehend. Usually I disliked such people, thinking about their simplicity, but his face betrayed no sign of naiveté.
So what, I thought, and turned my gaze back to the monitor of my treadmill that promised another two minutes of torture. I was running at 11 mph and there was no chance I'd be slowing down now, no matter how intense the side stitch. In the corner of my eye, I saw his figure disappear into the weights area.
With some struggle I managed to finish my warm-up routine. I felt slightly dizzy as I went to pick up the disinfectant swipes and proceeded to clean my treadmill. My face probably looked as red and puffy as a tomato, not that I truly cared anymore.
My workout plan was aptly named "body torture". First I'd work on my legs. I was always bottom heavy with my wide hips, so I always felt inclined to begin with my largest muscles. I would squat, kick and do whatever was necessary to tone the jiggly fat on my thighs. My back would be towards the weights area. Despite it, I would take any excuse to adjust the equipment and inform myself of the exact location of the guy from the treadmills. I would tell myself that the seat really was too low but I could never lie to myself convincingly. I was interested in him.
I would move from machine to another but my eyes would always scan for him. It no longer mattered which machine I was using, as long as there was an unobstructed view to this good-natured stranger.
I couldn't justify my fascination for him. Perhaps I was just bored and having a small crush would add some spice to my otherwise repetitive gym routine. He seemed safe, harmless.
His program seemed to be over more quickly than mine was. I have had the bad habit of slowly adding more and more exercises to my plan until my gym visits extended the length of two hours. While I was halfway through my program, I saw him exit the male changing rooms in a rather dorky looking tracksuit and leaving the place. I sighed and went on working my triceps.
- - -
A few days later our paths crossed again. I was working the leg press as I saw him enter the gym, wearing that same tracksuit as last time. He stopped cheerily to greet some slightly overweight guy on the bicycle. It seemed they were well acquainted but it was too far away for me to be able to eavesdrop on their conversation. A moment later he rushed for the changing rooms and reappeared in his familiar red shorts and the grey tee. In lack of a better name, I nicknamed him Red Shorts in my head.
I watched him begin his workout like last time, with a brief run on the treadmill, but this time from a different angle. He appeared to sweat in a very attractive way: enough to see he was pushing his body but not enough to disgust you. His eyes were fixed on the timer as if he was waiting for the torture to end. I couldn't help but smile a little, realizing that he wasn't just slacking off. It motivated me to push harder as well, to do my repeats even slower until my thighs were on fire.
As I finished my repeats, I was compelled to move to the other corner of the hall. After all, I did have my program to finish. However, I was desperate to have him notice me. I was wearing those same sport leggings as before, this time with a bright red top. I tried to make my short body look long as I graciously walked past him. I was praying to God I didn't look comical in my attempt to be attractive.
When I got to the hand weights I glanced back to see if his eyes were still glued to the display and to my dismay they were. I sighed. Why do guys never take notice when you want them to?
When I left the changing rooms, I scanned the area but failed to see him. I figured he's probably just deep in the weights area, beyond the periphery of my vision.
- - -
It was drizzling as I stepped outside in my dark blue mid-season jacket and my sports bag. The sky was already turning from dark grey into a shade of black and the little light that there was reflected off the raindrops tapping against the cars in the parking lot.
I walk up to my miserable looking bicycle, its saddle soaked from the rain. It often rained in this valley so I had grown accustomed to the unpredictable weather. Soon enough I'd be home having a hot shower, washing the cold and the sweat off my skin.
I tried turning the key in the lock but it wouldn't turn. After I had made sure that it was the correct key that I was holding, I realised it may have rained inside the keyhole and it was just slightly jammed. I tried applying more force, careful not to break the key inside the lock.
"Fuck!" I cried as the lock still wasn't budging after several attempts. It was getting cold and I wanted to get out of the rain. I could walk home, I thought. But, come morning, my bicycle might not be here anymore.
"Need some help with that?" A male voice sounded from a short distance away.
I looked to my side to see the form of a guy hovering over his bicycle. From underneath my hood I could see that he was looking at me and I assumed it was he who had spoken.
"The lock won't open," I explained to the silhouette in a hoodie and slacks.
He left his bicycle standing at the other side of the gym entrance and walked up to me. As he came nearer, light hit his face. My heart skipped a beat as I realized this stranger was Red Shorts, the guy that I had been studying during my last couple of workouts. His hair was wet and curled up under his hood, his eyes solemn but kind as he approached me.
"May I?" he asked politely.
