Fit To Love Part II

At this point, the sweat was pouring off me. I thought, I’m probably looking my best. I turned to a sweet-looking girl to my left. I smiled.

Right away, I could tell she was nervous, too. She felt my presence and barked, “What are you looking at?” I, silently, checked my pulse.

I hadn’t expected this reaction. Maybe, I wasn’t the prime specimen of manhood I thought I was. I returned to the mirror. Was, too!

The heck with that, I thought. I puffed up my chest, held my head high and strode to the water fountain. Love was all around me. Somewhere.

My next visit to the club was better. Or, so I thought at first. I was dressed to kill. Too violent? Let’s say, I was barely clothed.

Or, provocatively clothed. A wolf in sheep’s workout attire? A macho man in a sleeveless T? A dreamboat stripped for action?

A fiend, masked as a… Enough! I was ready for whatever came my way. I knew I was Born to be Wild. I had heard that on the way over.

I pretended to look at the clock, but I was surveying the battlefield. Violent? Again. War of the Sexes? Where was this imagery coming from?

What I really wanted was love. Does that sound sappy? I don’t care. It’s true. I hoped there was someone who agreed.

I was hearing music, sweet music, in my head, and trying to squeeze between the leg lift and the bicep machine, when I saw her.

Well, really, I only saw part of her. She was tying her shoes. At least, I thought so. When she straightened up, she held a huge barbell.

She was what Mom would call statuesque. What Dad would call an Amazon. She could have been an East German shot putter of old. Except…

She wasn’t old and she was probably from California. Not only that, she was the strongest woman I had ever seen. Heck, ever imagined.

She glowed with health. The light refracted off her sweat. Each muscle, no matter how small, was enunciating like a speech teacher.

Allow me to be carried away by love - Her teeth were like a dentist’s assistant’s. Her eyes, burning coals. Her arms like Jesse Ventura’s.

Her two, red lips were like a Burma Shave sign, saying, As you go, Along the way, Don’t forget, To stop and play.

She was like the Colossus of Rhodes. Or, she, at least, had long shapely legs about 50 feet high. With Nikes at the end of each.

With her eyes closed, it was safe to take a close look at her. No fantasy, she was real. The barbell above her head kept me at a distance.

I’m no Shakespeare, but I called out… "Juliet?" One eye opened and looked down at me. I knew, right then, that Juliet was not her name.

I gazed up at her, sweetly, but felt she wanted something else. So I smirked, “You gorgeous hunk.” The one eye closed. The moment passed.

Though possibility was everywhere, I was starting to believe that true love or even a good time, was going to be hard to come by.

I decided to settle down and begin my exercise in earnest. I’d become so ripped, I think they call it, that none of them could resist.

I huffed, I puffed, I lifted, I repeated. And, repeated. And, repeated. Would I ever be able to hold a conversation after this?

Maybe it was like manual labor, where your language skills devolved with each effort and, at the end of things, all you could do was swear.