i have to get all hot and sweaty in front of you?!

It should be mandatory that all gym employees be ugly, or at the very least, uglier than the majority of your average, 95% sedentary gym goers.

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against attractive nutritionists and physical trainers. Of course, people in these fields are statistically just more likely to be attractive, and more power to them. Everyone dreams of finally making it to the gym and falling (quite literally) into the hands of their new, extremely fit physical trainer. It's a nice story. The reality, however, is far from appealing.

I joined my neighborhood gym the other day, in an effort to fulfill one of my summer goals – to craft myself into the stereotypical gym goer (like one of the regulars they use for brochures and advertisements, one who's in such good shape it's obvious they frequent weights and cardio, one who positively exudes the aura of a well-broken-in membership card), rather than the all too familiar gym attemptress (the one who joins, whole-heartedly, and then after a few days of witnessing the gym goer in her naturally-good-looking-sweaty habitat, is discouraged and begins to wear her workout clothes at home while she digs into a newly-opened jar of peanut butter).

I joined with my mom, figuring we could bully each other into actually going. (For the record, I used to work out a lot. And then I didn't so much).

While my mom was negotiating costs with the fit and not entirely unattractive manager, I was struck up with a long and semi-flirtatious conversation with the manager's friend, fellow gym employee and entirely too attractive guy behind the counter. This lasted about 40 minutes, and in that time he managed to inform me of his dedicated work schedule – six days a week.

It was such a tragedy! I was soooo close!!! But now, every time I went to the gym, I risked running into him. This meant I had to look cute in workout gear and even worse, maintain said cuteness while panting on the treadmill, frizzing my not-so-cooperatively-straight hair and dripping buckets of sweat... Not an easy feat.

Why couldn't he just have been ugly, or even just sub-par? Blah? Psh? Meh? That I culd have dealt with. That I would have felt comfortable with. I would have gone to the gym, become exceedingly sweaty, and looked at him and seen camaraderie, understanding, just another fellow gym attemptress (or attempter in this case) on their way to physical betterment. But ohhhh no, he had to be cute.

Intent on not letting this cute-counter-guy hiccup ruin my latest attempt and re-gym-acclimation, I decided to go the next day, assuming my physically-fit-speed-bump would be there. He was. I made sure to do my hair in cute-sporty pigtails, carefully affixed with bobby pins (with extra on hand to use in an emergency). Not wanting to wear makeup, but afraid of my concealer-less appearance, I dabbed a bit of powder on my face and headed out, somewhat appeased.

I thought I might be able to sneak by without him seeing me until I was tucked away in the most discreet corner I could find. I walked in and surveyed the room. He wasn't behind the front counter. I demurely made my way to the back where the ladies changing room was. 30 feet to go. 20 feet. Almost there. I could just see it...

Something to the left caught my eye. I turned and there he was, sitting at a desk in the back, mid conversation with a coworker and waving at me. I waved back, ducked into the bathroom and re-pinned my hair.

At the end of an hour-long workout, I was sweaty and tousled. I made a b-line for the back, splashed cool water on my face, adjusted my hair, adjusted my bangs, which I had smartly pinned back in order to keep them from becoming a casualty of my workout, and went to stretch. Aware of the cute-counter-guy's whereabouts (going through some of the weight machines with another gym attemptress like myself), I slipped through to the back room, stretched out, rechecked my hair, and opened the door to leave.

I walked right into him. At the end of a few minutes of misguided talk, all the while I was slowly moving towards the exit, he asked me when I was coming in for my personal training (you get 2 for free with the membership). My mom and I had arranged to come in together, on Friday night.

"I'll be here," he said, smiling.

"Alright then," I said, waving and attempting to mask my anxiety as I made my way towards the door. Great, juuuuust great! I thought to myself. He better not be my personal trainer. I don't want to have to start spending my afternoons with a peanut butter jar and a spoon!