thanks a heap, man

I have to say, people are so unbelievably considerate of one another, it's a marvel there is any animosity in the world. I don't know how there is any strife or contention when everyone is looking out for his fellow man. Uh, right.

But in all truth, it usually is at least a little bit better when you're a woman; sometimes to an annoying degree. Not yesterday.

So there I was, at the gym, doing my normal deal. I had taken a spin class, which I do on Mondays now before I lift, because I don't have my bike together, but would like to do some riding eventually. I don't really like the teacher too much on that day, but I just tune her out and bust ass for 45 minutes before I do my lift for the day. After my class yesterday, I cruised over to the bench press and started my sets, working up in 5 rep increments until I was up at 135lbs. I only intended to do 2 reps by the time I got up to that weight, because I both haven't lifted heavy in a couple of weeks, and that is near my threshold at the moment.

While I was in the midst of my sets, two frat boys appeared (I know this because they were both wearing fraternity bar tees) and skulked around waiting for the station to be open. They settled on starting on the incline press, because their audible displeasure at a girl on their station wasn't enough to scare me away.

I successfully completed one rep and happily started down on the second one, pleased with my progress thus far. After reaching my chest and beginning to press back up, there were signs of trouble and fatigue. I knew about a third of the way up, that I wasn't going to make it all the way to the top and my arms began to shake and slowly compress under the weight. "Fuck," I said quietly and fought against the bar, trying desperately to eek out enough strength to get it up to the lower rungs of the bench. Normally when something like this happens, as it sometimes does when one is pushing oneself and has no spotter, the other gym patrons will rush to the aid of the fatigued lifter and assist. Not this time.

As the bar, equipped with a 45lb plate on each side dripped its way back down to my chest, the frat boys stood less than 5 feet away from me and watched as I struggled, pinned under the weight. They gaped as I rolled the bar down my stomach and over my legs, which felt awesome, by the way, and then stared as I stood up with the weight and muscled it around and back over to the holds. As I was turning around with the weight, the whisperer cocked a half smile and said "You need some help or somethin'?"

No, fuckstick, I was just pinned under this bar, rolled it down the length of my body, fought with it to stand up with it, turn it around and place it back on the bench because it's a new lifting technique I'm trying. Thanks a pantload for the early intervention on that one.

But I didn't say that. I shot out some eye darts, shook my head and went on with my workout, remembering that the side effect of being a physically capable woman means that stupid, stick-limbed frat boys will most likely be intimidated and angered by my strength and will most likely call me a dyke under their breath. I'm sure when they took over the station, they chuckled to themselves that I couldn't press up a measly 135lbs and wondered why I tried.

Can't wait to see those two there again.