Middle aged men won't leave me alone at the gym.

The past two times I’ve worked out at the Princeton Club I’ve been hit on by middle aged men.

The first time I was jogging around the track and this guy in terribly maintained dreads kept hollering at me.

I pretended I couldn’t hear.

I mean, I was jogging.

Did he honest to God think I was going to stop jogging and talk to him?

Then, I forgot about him and started walking around the track to cool down, 

He then tried to holla at me again.

I responded with “Hey,” and continued my lap.

And avoided the side of the gym he was on.

Tonight, a middle aged man who hardly spoke English approached me while I was stretching after my workout.

He wanted to know my expert opinion on how to work out, because it was his first day at the club.

I made the mistake of telling him I could speak Spanish.

He then fell in love with me.

He told me he was a mechanic without a car.

And he asked when I worked out next.

I told him it was different everyday.

He said he’d remember me and give me his card next time he saw me.

I shook his hand and booked it out there.

I really, really, really hate talking to anybody when I’m at the gym.

Especially men.

Especially middle-aged men.

I could possibly make an exception for a twenty-something attractive fellow, but let’s face it. That ain’t gonna happen.

Maybe I should stop wearing leggings as pants when I work out…