Sniff, sniff. Do you smell that? Is it me? Wait, is it you?

After lifting, I went to the second floor of the gym to bang out a treadmill session. The digital clock on the wall read 4:34, and I thought, “I hope there’s an open machine.” There were two available.

The two unoccupied treadmills sandwiched an individual. I selected the one closest to the wall and punched in the workout duration (18 minutes), my weight (169), and my age (44). I was not a quarter-way into the workout when I noticed the person beside me was no longer there. But because I cannot see out of my right eye, it was not until the end of the session that I realized their whereabouts.

I stepped off the machine and strode towards the disinfectant wipes perched on the wall when I saw them. They had moved one treadmill to the right such that there was an open machine between us. What the -?! My thoughts moved faster than I did at any point during those 18 minutes.

Why did they move away from me?

Do I stink?

Does my pimp limp distract them so much that they must separate themselves?

. . .

I wiped the treadmill with a wet nap and smiled. I remembered that I don’t give two flying fucks why or that they changed machines. Maybe they were gamey and did not want me to be forced to endure it. Or perhaps they are a militant man-hater who cannot stomach being within two feet of a Y chromosome. The Truth matters not.

I have many more important matters to occupy my mind. For one, what will I make for dinner – pasta or cereal?