The Plan. 

The gym isn’t a threat anymore. 

In high school, the weightlifting room was where our spring track team would pretend to be lifting. 

In college, the gym was were desperate freshmen boys would try their best to bulk up. 

The gym was where people wanted to be seen not sweat. Worse than middle school dances. I didn’t have the right clothes then. I wasn’t the coolest. Dancing wasn’t cool. Freakin’ was cool. I could never be OK with being starred at. 

It’s not that way anymore. I took introduction to gym 101 and gym therapy with a friend. The Fox gym was a new safe place, as long as I wasn’t alone. I learned etiquette. I learned to not care what others think. I learned not to maintain eye contact. 

Today, I was told I should join a plan. Told by a gym-goer that currently doesn’t follow, a plan. He’s going to start a plan. Good for him. Sure. Great. 

My response after he told me I should join a plan: what else should I do? He said: lose the attitude. Now. I didn’t offer a response. I smiled. And wished him well. Goodnight!

He constantly gives me advice on what to do at the gym. He admits to other men that he doesn’t know what he’s doing at the gym. Yeah, I should start a gym plan. I should lose the attitude. Yet it wasn’t. It was a simple sarcastic response. Because I meant no. But some men can’t handle no. They can’t handle sarcasm. 

Maybe because the middle school dance floor was difficult for him too? And still is?


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