Day at the Gym

So I’ve been going to the gym a lot lately as I’ve come to the conclusion that I have the same diet as a hyper emotional 16 year old going through her first break up – lots of chocolate and ice cream.   I live in Manhattan and go to a gym on the Upper East Side which is about 80% chicks and a bunch of guys that look like they stepped out of the pages of Men’s Fitness.   Then there’s me, I swear everyone at this place must look at me like I’m part of the Make A Wish foundation and that my last desire was to get a decent body before lymphoma continues to devour my white blood cells.  I mean I’m the only guy at this place who looks like he got his gym membership from winning a radio contest. 

These girls must think guys lose their libidos as soon as they walk into a gym because I’m on the treadmill the other night and the girl next to me gets done working out and starts stretching on the treadmill.  She’s got her legs up on the rails in a 90 degree angle and contorting into a pretzel, while I’m hanging onto my machine for dear life as I’ve been completely thrown out of loop.  I can’t tell if every girl that looks at me in that place is checking me out or thinking I’m a rapist.  They all seem to have their cell phones out with the number 9 and 1 dialed and ready…you know “just in case.”