Gyming nothing to the imagination.

“How is the gym thing going?” Why, thank you for asking. Very well, actually. I’m up to a 30 minute run without feeling like I might die. So that’s good.

I do, of course, have a gripe. A woman who shall remain nameless because I don’t know her name, uses the treadmill in front of me. She starts by stretching. Now this is a fancy gym. There is a designated “stretch” area. But X insists on doing it on the treadmill.

It would be fine if she was just flexing her arms or warming up her ankles, but X does a full 360 degree stretch. She downward dogs, Kama Sutra’s her leg over the machine’s edge and dry humps the handle bars with such rigor I can’t help but feel a bit sorry for the machine. All the while her bum takes center stage in my vision. There’s more. Buttocks I can handle. If anything it’s major incentive for me to keep running. But the woman has camel toe. Big bushy camel toe. That’s how tight her lycra tights are. And it’s unavoidable because it’s right in front of me. Hello someone else’s vagina. I’m so not please to meet you.

I know what you’re thinking. Just move. I’ve thought about this. Some mornings when X is getting her full stretch it’s hard not to. But I do consider her the lesser of many evils. At least her stretch only lasts a short while. It could be worse. I could have the bloke with B.O, the instructor who grunts when she runs (you know who you are Monica Seles on steroids) or my personal least favorite Perfect Barbie. I can still have a bit of a laugh at X. I have the feeling Perfect Barbie feels the same way about me.