Sit-ups and Hook-ups

I’m not sure why I named this post the way I did because I haven’t done either of those things, but I am thinking about them. I figure if I do more of the first, it could lead to lots of the second. Only….not actual hooking up, more like dating hooking up….date-ups? dook-ups?

This post is going nowhere fast. Much like my life.

Oh, wait! I do have one thing to tell you. I’ve been spending a lot of time sweating and roaming around Stone Mountain park. I go about the same time each day and tend to see the same people. There’s this one guy cyclist who wears the brightest clothes I’ve ever seen. I’m talking shock, electric, costume parade fireworks blue. It’s quite a sight, but I use it to my advantage, because I can pretty much pace myself by the number of times he laps me.

I don’t feel bad about it, though; he apparently me has been using me as his personal pedometer, too. The other day I was struggling through my workout, and he flies over a hill and yells “pick it up, pick it up,” as he passes by me.

I should mention that I was STRUGGLING on this particular hill, so I did what any mature woman with nasty funk-water dripping off her body would do. I shot him the bird, blasted him with a hot, sweaty ugly side eye and threw a stick in his tires to make him fall off his bike. That will teach him to keep his mouth shut.

Or, that really didn’t happen. Not the stick part. Now, the ugly sweat glare. THAT happened. But it must have been a good look, because he wheeled his bike around and came back.

He said his name was Rawr or Roar or Roud or Rah, but I couldn’t really understand him. His thick SOUTH AMERICAN accent was getting in the way. Oh, did I forget to mention that he was from the land of the sun? Okay, well, besides his bright blue biking shorts, he has beautiful golden skin that pulls tight across his big, fine thighs when he pedals me… I mean, his bike.

After I stood there looking like the sweat monster, asking, “Whah, what did you say,” he finally spelled his name for me. Turns out, it’s Raul. I spelled my name for him, too, as he put my number in his cell phone. *winks*

There’s not much more to this story except to say we’ve chatted twice and have talked about getting together so he can show me his moves…. His South American DANCE moves, you guys.  Get your minds out of the gutter! There’s not enough room for all us of there.

So, here’s to electric blue biking shorts. Maybe I could get to like them.