The Rep

 

     Just one more, up, hold, and down. That is all I have left, one more rep in this workout. My ass cheeks have Charlie horses that I don’t think I’ll be able to recover from for a while. But one more rep to get this gluteus maximus round and perky the way I’ve always wanted it to be. The sweat from my forehead is dripping everywhere, I sit on the ground with the barbell on my hips, fix my position, take the deepest breath known to man-kind, and thrust to the heavens. This is probably one of the most uncomfortable workouts to do surrounded by men; but the burn is real and feels so good.

     This journey has been one of many years in the making. I used to hate doing any form of exercise. I still despise the most common and favorited by many, cardio. I mean I get the love that people have with cardio, especially running. When you are running on an open road, surrounded by nature, the light breeze to keep you from overheating, and the perfect ratio of shade and sun feels like freedom. I understand that. There is just something about lifting that makes it better than cardio. It’s probably the limits that I’m stretching my body to, the mind-muscle connection, the exertion needed to complete that last set, to get that new pr. Or maybe, it’s because I feel like a bad bitch drinking pre, lifting weights, and making a protein shake after. Maybe.

     I finish my last set of today’s sessions and walk to get my stuff from the locker. I used to walk with my head down, ignoring everyone when I passed by. I was ashamed by the way I looked when I would come to work out. It’s always been hard for me to lose weight healthily. I would start a crazy fad diet, restrict myself to the point of starvation, and work out over four hours a day. I would see the results after a couple of weeks, it was almost instant in most of the times that I was doing this. But just as quickly I would shed the weight, the quicker I gained it back when I quit the diet and was not consistent with the training program.

     This time it’s different. I’m not restricting myself like before; I’m listening to my body what it craves, when I need to rest, my mindset is in a better place. Finally. I can say that I’m happy with where I am, physically and mentally. Now I walk through the gym, head high, smiling and saying hi to most people. Except for him. I can not control my face when I pass by him, I can feel my facial muscles instantly change to a resting bitch face. Yet, I still look for him when I walk through the doors. I don’t get it either. To be honest, he isn’t the hottest guy in the gym. He kind of looks like Post Malone. Not bad looking, but Chris Evans, Ryan Reynolds, and Michael B. Jordan are training in the same gym. You get what I mean? Not my cup of tea, but an average joe.

     I don’t even know why I’m even mentioning him. I guess I had high hopes for him when we matched on a dating app. Maybe he would have messaged, maybe I would muster up the courage to message him or mention something at the gym. But neither of us did. And that’s perfectly fine. It probably would have made things extremely awkward at the gym.

     When I think about dating, I think of dating to marry. Not dating around just for fun. Which I could see the benefits of that. When you date “just for fun” or unexpectedly end in a relationship it teaches you who you are during a relationship. Dating shows you the compatibility of the other person; narrows down what you are looking for or what is needed. You learn your love language and if you’re observant you learn the other person's love language as well. I should say that I have not been in a relationship. Not a real relationship where there’s a label on it. The kind of relationship where you go on dates, he’s a complete gentleman, doesn’t let you open your door, or take your card out to pay. The classic relationship. The old school, going out during the day on an adventure to have a picnic or lunch in a new spot, share a milkshake, open your car door, writes you a love letter just because he misses your kind of relationship. The relationship you see romanticized in every book and movie, from The Notebook to Maid in Manhattan. The romance I grew up watching and wishing for in my life.

     The dating scene in this day and age isn’t even a dating scene. It’s chaos, confusion, and filled with ghosts. Instead of love letters, it’s unsolicited dick pics. Instead of “I got this love” when paying for the meal, it’s “I forgot my wallet” or “I actually don’t get paid ‘til next Friday.” Which I get it, it happens. Life is unexpected. But the bar has been set so low, below the soil low, deeper than the hell low, that the guy expects you to fuck him after the first date. That first date being the value menu from McDonald's. I know I’m sounding like some pretentious woman writing this, who probably expects a fancy dinner from a 5-star restaurant. That’s not the case, I still expect the bare minimum in most cases because boys have been conditioned to that. But if the guy I’ve been talking to for the past month and a half says he’s only interested in me. Then honey, act interested, act like you want me. I already told you my expectations in the beginning when we were talking about what we expect from a partner or would like in a partner. That was your key to the door. Instead, it’s this stupid mind game of leaving me on read for three days and on that third day when I’m about to just forget about you, you call. You call, my dumbass picks up, and you say “Hey hon, I haven’t heard from you in a while. I miss seeing and talking to you, let’s plan a day together for this weekend.” In which I reply; “yeah that sounds like a good idea.” The weekend rolls around and you leave me on read, plans out the window because you decided to go fishing with your friend for the 6^th weekend in the row. And then the time finally comes where I say I can’t see you tonight, I’m too tired, and that’s what made you ghost me.

     That’s why the only true love I have in my life currently is the gym. It doesn’t play mind games with me, it doesn’t leave me on read, it doesn’t judge me for wanting to get healthier. It’s just there and welcoming. I’m young, like early 20 something, not even 25 years old young, and my excuse to not dating anyone is my career and my fitness journey. I always wanted to be Carrie Bradshaw or Samantha Jones, but I’ve turned into Miranda. I don’t even have to include her last name because you already know Miranda is the one that uses her career as an excuse to not even bother with the idea of dating around. Hell I’ve even taken those personality quizzes to see which character I am, and without failure, it’s always Miranda Hobbes.

     I don’t even know how I got to this point in my disinterest in a love life. But I do have several ideas as to how I got here. When I finish with this last set, I’ll start unpacking some more random thoughts that makes up this 20 something year old.

PS: No need to get railed in the ass to have your cheeks sore and not be able to walk, just do a full lower body workout. The pain won’t leave you regretting your life choices.