“Yay! I love when guys come to class!” the perfect physical specimen of a Pilates instructor said very cheerleaderishly before class started. “Pilates are great for everybody. Plus it’s a great place to meet girls!”
I’d been to this class before. Different instructor then. And when this instructor said Pilates was a great place to meet women, I knew that she was full of crap.
I mean, yeah, from the outside, Pilates should be a great place to meet incredibly gorgeous women.
TODAY'S FEATURED TEE!
2020 Election Shirt!
(Designed by Dan)
I looked around at the other people in class. The only other guy, just as fat as me, looked back at the instructor and then around at the women in the room as if he’d just landed in a room full of treasure. Most of the women in that class were at an almost-equal level to the instructor. Super flexible. Super strong. Super toned. Super hot. Super out of my league.
But even if they were in my league, I still knew the instructor was full of crap. Because I knew what was coming… An hour of sheer hell that would leave this fat guy (and guaranteed that fat guy over there) far more undatable than he was when he first walked into the room.
It would start with this maneuver where we pick up a swiss ball up, swing it high over our heads, then down by our feet, and then repeat about six thousand times. Every time I lift the ball above my head, my fat white hairy belly pokes its naked self out like a groundhog coming out of its hole on a sunny day.
Then we’d do this thing where we lay on our backs, put one foot on a medicine ball and do pelvic thrusts. As I continually collapse and groan beneath my own weight, any woman who may have potentially been interested would think only one thought. That’s one guy I’d never want in the sack.
Then we’d do this thing where we do these lunges, stand on our tippy toes, and then swing arms, legs, and whatever else in an attempt to strengthen ourselves. I never have the goal of strengthening myself. I only ever have the goal of surviving. And all the women can see it in my face.
Then we’d do this thing where our cores use muscles that apparently I don’t have. And I’d collapse again. Only this time, I’d let out an accidental and giant groan. Who is this guy and why is he here? Women’s thoughts are never hard to hear.