Why No One Hits on Me at the Gym

You know those random thoughts you have that even though you’re like “Why am I thinking about this? I don’t even care about this topic/idea/question/what-have-you!” you can’t not think about them because they are, after all, random thoughts and you have no control over such things?

Well, I had one the other day. And it went something like: “Why don’t I ever get hit on at the gym?”

BEFORE I GO FURTHER, I must say that I really don’t want to get hit on at the gym. I mean first, I’m married. And second, even if I needed that little ego boost it’s not like the guys there are really all that flattering. I mean, sure, you have the occasional beefcake. But the one that I’m thinking of in particular has star tattoos on his triceps. Not really my type...or anyone's type aside from some shot girl working at a club.

So this thought kind of stuck with me, and I really started analyzing myself. Am I really that out of shape? Am I less attractive than the other girls? Is it just a myth that the gym is a place to hook up? I really mulled this over, folks, until the answer hit me whilst I was looking at my reflection in the gym's giant mirror.

I have horrible workout clothes.

Most girls there are really matchy-matchy, with their hot pink Fila shorts and white-with-pink-accents Fila tank and white and pink shoes. You know the type.

 

If they’re not matchy-matchy, they’re pretty basic with running shorts and a plaint-shirt. And if they don’t fit into either of those categories, they’re probably high schoolers with high school track t-shirts and such.

And then, there’s me.

I used to have lots of great workout clothes. But then I stopped working out. And gained weight. And now those clothes don’t fit. So, I’m stuck with this ensemble:

And this t-shirt:

Oh, and this t-shirt:

Clearly, this is why I don’t turn heads. Because I look like some grade schooler who just rolled out of bed. And I’m okay with that. Like I said, I don’t need to get hit on.

But then today, all of my workout shirts were dirty, so I was left digging through my dresser and random storage places for clothing before I found this...a t-shirt I bought at a concert I attended in college.

Yes, that is a creepy ghost woman.

I find it sad that my once-treasured concert t’s are now degraded to unattractive workout wear. But such is life. (Plus, this shirt is a major step above Royal Chambers, wouldn’t you agree?)

If anything, despite still feeling un-hit-on-able, I can comfort myself with the fact that I bought this shirt at the very same concert at which I asked a band member to marry me. And he said yes. Kind of erasing the non-hit-on-able feeling. But that’s another blog post for another day. Maybe Thursday.

Ps. Yes, this was the band. Can you guess who the lucky guy was?