I am not a runner.
That’s not to say I don’t try. I run pretty regularly at the gym. But my running has absolutely nothing to do with enjoyment.
I don’t run 5Ks — let alone marathons — and I can’t seem to run while I’m talking to someone. My running is strictly a matter of fending off unnecessary pounds and making up for the junk that I ate at the latest work baby shower.
That being said, I figure the total lack of joy I feel has to be plastered all over my face every time I step on a treadmill. And that’s why I marvel at the fact that people feel the need to bother me while I’m there.
Usually, it’s some middle-aged gym prowler who tries to start a conversation by asking how many miles I’ve run.
“Wow, you must really love working out,” the last guy said.
Oh? Did you not see my sheepish eyeroll as I dropped my iPod on the treadmill five minutes ago? Or that moment when the headband holding back my hair slipped out, and I attempted to fix it without stopping. It must have been really impressive when I got myself so dizzy that I had to stop the treadmill to get my balance back.
But yeah. I love working out, dude. Go bother someone else. And he totally will, because no one is safe from creeps at the gym.
This week, I thought I had escaped without any hassles. Then I heard a voice yards behind me yell across the gym parking lot.
“Excuse me!”
I turned around to find a guy I had seen inside wearing a Steelers championship T-shirt.
“Are you single?” he yelled.
Seriously? What kind of line is that? When has that ever worked on a girl? And you’re a Steelers fan? I didn’t wear this purple shirt on purpose, but I could have.
Maybe I’m just a grump, but is it so wrong to want to sweat in peace?
Thank you for confirming something I suspected for a long time: It is best to just keep my mouth shut and go about my business in every situation. You don’t like to be bothered at the gym. Someone else doesn’t want to be bothered in a bus, or in a bar, or in a bookstore, or on the job. Yes, you have confirmed the fact that as a society, we have devolved into a bunch of ostriches with our head in the sand. And, oh, by the way, as a middle aged male, I will forever consider myself a creep, regardless of my behavior, so I appreciate you reminding me of that fact. From now on, I will have my wife speak for me on those rare occasions when I feel I can actually appear in public without creeping you out.
I don’t think anyone on this blog is calling all middle aged men creeps. Middle aged men are our colleagues, sources, friends and even significant others. I have conversations with middle aged men every day. But if you are a man (or woman for that matter) who is consistently bothering people at the gym or chasing someone across a parking lot, you can bet I’ll question your motivations.
I so badly want to answer the “you must work out a lot” pick-up line with “nope, I’m just twenty years younger than you.” One of these days!