What’s My Name?

Unfortunately among the top five dangerous types of men to avoid, lie the gym instructors or gym enthusiasts. Smooth operators. While many people will have scathing comments about your body weight, especially some spouses and colleagues whose other major job description is criticizing your eating habits and weight, when they have never offered you even a bottle top of their fresh juice, gym instructors have specialized in making you feel good. It appears like they attended a secret school with an elaborate syllabus, where in their first year of study, they are trained to praise women and second year, one majors in telling lies. Even when you look like a small elephant playing in the mud, a negative comment won’t escape their lips. Even when your belly is heavy and gave up fighting the gravitational forces and as such, it makes you slouch even when you walk, these instructors will not demean you. They won’t say you have stagnated in your weight loss. They will confuse you with scientific reasons and say how much internally, you have improved.

I didn’t know you played football? He texted me, soon after someone tagged me in a photo, with a caption bordering something to do with loving football and slaying. Thank God it was filtered because my face sometimes likes like a meteor.

Ah, I don’t. It’s just a program I found myself in…

C’mon. You do play because that body- damn!

*Blushing.

Thank you.

What’s your workout program like?

I don’t work out, really! I text him.

No way! How come your body is so sculpted? (Well, he didn’t use ‘sculpted’, but a woman gotta add salt, right?)

I really don’t work out. I am too lazy.

You can’t be lazy when you are playing football.

I have grown up being called lazy and any person who thinks I’m not lazy becomes a person of interest.

*Trying to find the right words, so that he keeps talking to me.

I see your pictures. You look good yourself. You work out? (I want to add, you have the body to appear in Keli Rowland’s videos, but I don’t want him to see my hunger)

I love the gym. It is my go-to place. He texts back immediately.

How can anyone love the gym? It is like saying you love digging, or you love cooking. Just ridiculous. Well, to be honest, when people call me lazy, they are right.

I hate the gym.

I text him back. He doesn’t respond immediately. Does he think I am lazy? Does he think I talk too much? Does he think I am too blunt to handle? He goes off line. Maybe he thinks I am too fat and just wanted to boost my esteem. He surely must always see girls with great bodies in his gym. I was such a fool.

*Checks if he is still online. He is typing!!!

I should be your instructor. You will love the gym more than anything. He says.

My heart starts smiling.

You are an instructor? You should have told me last time!

The last time I saw him, which was also the first time we met, I was drawn to his brown eyes more than the threatening biceps or the stallion thighs, or his alluring chest. I know it sounds like I spotted his body first, then his eyes. You are right. Who wouldn’t? Met him through a friend of a friend of a friend. We can’t be relatives, no? My heart, this bastard, took notes. You should have seen how it jumped excitedly when he texted after the tagged photo. See, I didn’t want to tell you guys, but I like him. Fingers crossed.

You left quickly. He says.

It means he looked for me. Oh, my heart, please calm down, for fitness’ sake. This rate of excitement will give you stroke.

My stomach had an upset. I tell him.

It is embarrassing to tell people you have diarrhea. They stare at your fingers always. As if some traces of stool are screaming at them, between your fingers. Like it’s a disease for the classless, who eat dirt, you know?

He laughs, sends a tearing emoji. Then he sends his sympathies. Then he persists,

Let me write you a program. You said you guys have a gym at work?

See, we talked a great deal on that day. That night. I’m surprised he still remembered this bit.

Yes we do.

Good. And you said you generally hate sweating?

Yes. I tried running on that treadmill. Worst experience.

You won’t need to run. After all, you don’t need to lose weight, do you?

I want to! I have always wanted to lose weight.

How much weight?

Just enough to make me portable.

He sends the laughing emojis, so many of them. I laugh back loudly, me and the emojis, like one happy family. I send the shy emoji. Blue tick. Then he’s typing. God, I love people who appreciate the urgency of texting back and also appreciate the humiliation of blue ticks and save you some face.

You are very light! I could run with you in my arms.

My heart shifts positions. I want this run!

 

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