I was stretching near the trainers' desk, and as I glanced to my left, I saw one of the personal trainers seated with his back to me, talking on the phone.
It stands to reason that most of the personal trainers have nice bodies, but this fellow--at least what I could see of him--was particularly scrumptious.
"Wow, those are some damn fine calves," I thought to myself. Defined, muscular, but not COUS, either.
I continued to admire the shapely fellow as I finished my stretches.
Did I recognize those sexy gams?
I was overcome by a strong sense of deja-cruise.
Hadn't I done crunches with those shapely legs standing next to me? They looked a lot like the sturdy legs of my smokin' hot personal trainer, C., who was sent to Iraq two years ago with his Army Reserve unit. Could it be him?
Lo and behold, the hottie turned around, and it was C..
He gave me a wave and a big smile. "Hey, Sean, how's it going'?" he called out.
My heart skipped a few beats. He was still exceptionally dreamy, even though two years seeing horrible things in the desert heat had roughened his formerly boyish face.
He was still chatting on the phone, so I wasn't able to talk with him beyond our quick greeting. But it's good to know (1) He wasn't killed or maimed while on infantry patrol; (2) He's back working at the gym, so I'll get to talk to him sometime this week.
You know, maybe my workout routine could use a little professional guidance, just to shake things up... (Though for $100 an hour, I suppose there are handsome men out there who would offer services more pleasant than forcing me to do crunches until I puke.)
Do you think he noticed that I weigh twenty pounds less than the last time he saw me?