Equilateral Love

Chapter 3 - A New Normal; Part 1

Michael

Overall, the major thought on my mind was Michael, you are not hot enough to be in this relationship. And that was sort of the sentiment that led me out to the gym on a hot Saturday afternoon. The semester was in full swing now, and the campus rec center was plenty crowded. I circled for a bit as I popped my headphones in, searching for a spot to start the weight circuit, and didn't find one, so I decided to keep an eye on it while I did some curls.

I reached for a 15-pound dumbbell. Then I stopped, went back. Maybe a little more? If there was ever a time to get strong, this was it. Not even just for looks, either. I remembered the way Abby reacted when I picked her up. Now that was a reward worth working for. Maybe If I built myself up a little I could even manhandle Brianna a bit more. I felt like she'd like that. I grabbed a 25 instead.

The reps were tough, but I pushed through, heavy metal pounding in my ears. "Creeping Death." I don't know what it is about Metallica, but I swear that bass makes you stronger. My dad said it was always his secret weapon when he was feeling drained out on a framing job.

As I was lifting, I watched myself in the mirror. I don't know why gyms and stuff always put the free weights right in front of a mirror. I guess so you can check your form? But whenever I end up there it always turns into a sizing myself up type of thing. I was chunky. Hairy. Not exactly sculpted by the Greek Gods, you know? Kind of immediately I found myself wondering what it was exactly I brought to the table for Abby and Brianna. I mean I wasn't a monster or whatever, but I was kind of schlubby, you know? A little bit?

Then again, there was sort of a rugged manliness factor at play. Dark hair was sort of good for that, right? I was a little soft around the middle section, but I had sort of a dull inkling that some women were into that? Or not against it at least? Maybe kind of a "dad bod" as they called it. It was sort of a natural consequence of being passionate about good food, I supposed, and while that might not be sexy per se, I did think it was a quality that the girls liked about me. Being able to cook never really hurt anybody.

I finished a set, and out of the corner of my eye caught somebody getting up from one of the weight-circuit machines, and decided to head over as he wiped it down. It was the tricep press thing. I don't know any of their actual names. Again, I pegged a weight that looked reasonable, then decided fuck it, and pushed it down one more.

One, two, three –

Nine, ten – I glanced over. The guy on the next machine was going for three sets. Okie dokie. That's fine, bud. I'm with you. It was too crowded to pick and choose, so I figured I'd just follow his lead around the circuit. As I pushed, and pulled, and the guitars shredded away in the background, I found myself thinking about dinners I could make for Brianna and Abby.

I was fond of one-pot meals – for the convenience as much as anything, and it cut down on dishes, which would be good. They seemed to be picking up the cleaning after I cooked most nights, and if I made something with one pot then one could wash, one could dry, and they'd be done. Badda bing, badda boom, as they say in the mob. More time for other stuff. Like studying. Yeah. Studying.

Lat pulldown next – this one was my favorite machine. It was half gravity, right? I pegged the weight even further down this time. One, two, three –

Jambalaya was a good one. Maybe Greek lemon and herb chicken? Oh hey, speaking of Greek, maybe we could do a gyro night! This was good – could I remember all this? Should I be writing this down somewhere?

By the time I finished the circuit, my body felt like cooked pasta. Fatigued. But also good. Sort of tense? Energized almost, in a way that was hard to describe. As I had moved to the last machine, my silent follow-the-leader gym partner left for the locker room, slinging a sweat-rag over his shoulder, and that was where we parted ways, not one word having passed between us. You're on your own there, buddy, I thought. Locker rooms always kind of freaked me the fuck out. What, just a room full of naked sweaty dudes? Steamy, floor covered in soggy band-aids and invisible pathogens, every guy there fifty times more cut than me? Nah. I was cool with showering at home.