my favorite semi-urban jungle gym.

6:30 pm. i rode the bike for half an hour, and then looked for my coworker who was there for a 7:00 training appt. we go to the same gym.

i've been obsessed with who her trainer is, if she's good, and wanting to trail a session. i don't know if it's protectiveness or competiveness that's the underlying urge. this place is my 2nd home and i'm territorial. my coworker invited me to trail their workout tonight so i could copy the circuit.

i ran into her by the locker room and she got my attention with a shy wave. she said that she had been watching me. i was surprised. i hadn't seen her at all. she said that she was on the treadmill right behind me. really? i said. huh. got creepy feeling that i filed away for later.

she said that her trainer wasn't there. i asked her what she meant. she said her trainer just called her and said she couldn't make it. that's unprofessional, i said. i know, right? so they said i should see if any other trainers are free who could train me. i walked her over to the desk and she asked them about available trainers in this time slot. the guy tries to give her some chick, but i could tell from the way he said her name, it was kind of a sorry, but that's all we've got tone.

this guy, juan, we've acknowledged each other with smiles and nods for years. he knows i've been here long enough to call bullshit. i ask him, what about bobby? is bobby available. noooo, he said, like bobby's out of my coworkers league. listen, i said. i've been watching some of your trainers, and they're not watching people's form at all. that's how people get hurt, and then they get sent out back to the chiro's office. my coworker giggled. juan looked taken aback, then grinned. hey, that's my manager next to you, you have to tell him what you just said. some of these trainers aren't paying attention to form, and that's how people get hurt, i repeat, impatient. the manager shakes his head and says, sorry, some trainers just aren't as good as others.

sorry, some of our trainers just aren't as good as others.

that should be the gym's motto.

so i look at juan like, no bullshit, get someone fucking good for my coworker. so he flips through some pages and says, you know, jack over there, he's very good. he's very serious and wants things done a certain way, but he'll work you. he knows what he's doing, juan? i ask. yeah, jack is good. he waves jack over and introduces them. my coworker agrees to work out with jack.

i lose interest immediately when i see they're going to be doing legs. i don't know if you know, but i have legs like a chick running back. like, why can't i look that muscular in the area of, say, my abs? so i hate working out legs on the machines because i work them out so much in everything thing else i do. i look over and see the basketball court full, sigh, and resign myself to doing quads next to them. in the middle of my first set on my left leg (i go right for 15 then left for 15 at 35 lbs for 3 sets), her trainer walks over and runs his finger along my surgery scar and asks, what's this from? i watch his finger trace the scar on my knee and look up to see him looking me in the eyes. i narrow my eyes, hostile. don't touch me. acl, i say, and i go back to focusing on my leg with complete concentration. in the middle of my second set, my coworker asks me if i have an extra hairband. i do. i go back to the locker room to get it. when i come back, she whispers to me, my trainer says you have really strong legs.

i see they're heading for more leg machines and my body is revolting in boredom. so i tell her i'm going to go play basketball. i head to the court and there's the guy who shoots like he's cocking a handgun. he's also a domineering son of a bitch, and we play some intense one on one games. i do want to interrupt their three man game of 21 to play 2 on 2 and he tries to get me to join a 4 man game of 21. what the fuck? how does that work? so i say 2's afterwards, even though i know i totally don't have the patience today to wait for a game. i go and run on the treadmill, the intensity of running making me fantasize about how shredded this is getting my body. i get off after 2 1/2 minutes. dreams of fourpack ownership float away.

i do some back exercises, some 5 lb weight circuit, some dips and consider doing abs, settling for stretching instead because the mat is crowded. i decide to do the seated row. i realize i approach weight training the same way i approach rides at magic mountain. i just go where there's the least amount of wait until i get tired and want to go home. the trainer and coworker walk by and she says goodbye. i say, i'll walk you out. i'm bored so it's time to go home.

the trainer asks her if she would like to train with him again and she says that she would. as we walk, he sidles up next to me and with this grin, says, what about you? what about me, i say. what do you want, he says, trying to look sly. i don't need anything, i say. you've got really great legs, he says. sigh. i want this conversation to end immediately. yeah, that's all i've got, i say, dismissively...the rest of me is still gunning for that fourpack. that's not all you have, he says. i mean, you've got amazing legs like, really amazing legs. he casually gestures towards the trainers station. we've been talking about it, your legs are ridiculous. (who've been talking about it? mild feeling of alarm) but you've got a personality, and a lot of other great things going for you. you've got a great jumpshot. with a devious grin, i ask him, almost accusingly...have you been watching me?, saying it the way tim olyphant as the drug dealer in go asks katie holmes, claire...are you a virgin? he gives me this bizarre look, like a small fuse behind his pupils pops and his mouth forms a perfect 0 . no, he says quickly, then gives me a little tiny smile that doesn't convince me or him. he gives me a small embarrassed wave and says, seeya, as he hurries away.

today i also saw a group of these cocky big black ballers laughing and joking around in front of the courts. they were being obnoxiously loud like they owned the place. as i walked by them, i gave them a smirk like, yeah, i know all about you. and they all fell silent, like they were waiting to see which one of them i was giving the look to. i walked by without saying a word. that's my way of saying, shut up.

tyrannically enforced celibacy to fuel creativity maintained over multiple months-- healthy or a vicious girl-on-guy sexual assault waiting to happen? discuss amongst yourselves.