Work it out.

So I went to the gym tonight.  Partly because I haven't been in a few weeks, and I feel a little guilty for the mass of ice cream & chocolate I've already imbibed/will continue to consume.  [Stupid post-relationship pounds.  You hear about the dreaded Freshman Fifteen, but you never hear about the Dejected Dozen, seven of which have already adhered themselves to my person.] 

But mostly, I like going to the gym because the endorphin release feels great.  It doesn't hurt that the place's main color scheme consists of my favorite complimentary colors.  Or that I can be on the treadmill and still catch my favorite TV show.  Or that most of the other people there at this time of night are about my physical skill level, and so I don't feel intimidated at all.  It's generally just a great atmosphere.

There is, however, one sore point with me relative to this gym at this time of night.  It's that this seems to be the hour that every guy who goes to a gym on a regular basis is at that gym, right then.  Seriously.  There's got to be at least a 4:1 men-to-women ratio.  And most of them are fairly good-looking.  And it sucks.


It isn't that I'm aggravated by their good looks and muscular physiques.  I can't even complain about their attitude. (Not really, not that I've been looking that hard.)  And it's not that I'm being all bitter about how they all remind me of the guy with whom I just broke up.  I'm really not, and they really don't.  Honest.


It's just that they keep looking at me.


I know, I'm probably just being silly.  The place has several mirror-lined walls, and in those particular areas, there isn't much else to look at; it's both common and natural to meet--or even just appear to meet--someone's eye multiple times in these spaces. But every time I do one of these ocular hit-and-runs, I can't help but think: 'Am I sending the wrong message? Will he take that platonic smile and interpret it as something more?  Does he even think I'm cute?  Is he even looking at my face?  Is my shirt too low? Are my shorts too short?  Why is he still looking at me? I hope he's not some creeper going to rape me on my way to the car....  And if he is, I hope I'm not too tired to outrun him....


So, yeah, maybe I'm a tiny bit paranoid.  Though, admittedly, I would be at a statistical disadvantage in that sort of situation.  I am a white female, between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five.  I am... rather below average height, thank you very much, and proportionally small of stature.  And female, very obviously female.  They also say that women of proud bearing, who seem sure of themselves and confident and strong, are even more likely to be perceived as targets.  And so chances are, I am fairly likely to be mugged, or raped, or attacked in some other fashion.  

Lovely.  Can't wait.  Isn't it great to be me?