A Fan Letter

Dear Sir

Remember me? Im the girl on the treadmill next to yours. No not the blonde one in spandex. The other one. The sweaty one. The one that only has an hour at the gym in the morning and uses it to the fullest. The pizza calories dont burn themselves you know.

Remember how you wore sunglasses indoors at 6:30 a.m.? You really had me wondering for a while. "Could you be blind?" I wondered as a sweated to the oldies. No. But you probably should be. Because after a while I caught on to the game. And not because I'm a detective (I'm not), or a genius (I am) but because you cat called. At the gym. At 6:30. In the morning. On a treadmill.

I don't know if you realize, but just because you are walking on a treadmill, doesn't actually mean you are walking away from anything. I feel it is necessary to inform you that you are in fact walking in place. And I am pretty sure it is part of good catcalling etiquette to drive (or at the very least walk) away after you whistle. But you are, again, on a treadmill. In sunglasses. Harassing unassuming people that have better things to do.

But you weren't done, were you sir? You just kept marching along, craning your chubby neck at anything female that had the misfortune to walk by. And when I was done with my run you decided to turn your considerable charms my way. Whats that? You really were impressed by my run? (liar, I know I look like a wounded gazelle). Thanky! And yes, I am that flexible. No, Im not a dancer, and no. I am absolutely not interested.

But thanks. Oh, and sweet shades.

Love,
The Girl on the Treadmill Next to You