FatGirl and I decided to go to the gym together today. Like most, we each have our routine, but I decided to check out his routine for a bit. He would show me a few exercises and then I would try them out. We headed over to the pull-up machine and I told him that would definitely not be something I would do. “I’ll help you,” he advised me. “How?” I asked. “I’ll hold your legs,” he said with great confidence.
I got on the machine and followed his instructions, which included letting him hold me near my knees. We did almost four half-assed pull-ups when he said, “OK, we’re done.” “I’m like dessert – heavier than you think,” I told him. “That was definitely all I could handle,” he said while giggling.
We eventually made made our way to the cardio area and started catching up while treadmilling (not a word or something either of us can do for a long period of time or without incident). He told me he hadn’t actually dated someone since 2002. I was shocked, but didn’t stop treadmilling – I know better. “Yep. I’ve just been having endless sex for the last ten years,” he told me. “Really?” I asked. “No, not really. I just talk about sex endlessly – there’s a difference.” “Good point. Lately, when I read my diary, also known as my blog, I’ve noticed I talk about sex a lot,” I thought outloud. “Just get in a relationship, then you won’t think about or have sex,” he advised.
We both laughed (maniacally), noticed we’d been treadmilling for a quarter of an hour, and decided to safely dismount. See, sex.