A Workout of Epic Proportions/Love at the Wrong Time

Most mornings, I rise before (or with) the sun.
Not that you really care, but I have the same
routine every morning.
I won't get too detailed because I would like
to maintain some privacy.
(Some poets spill too much
onto the pages of poems.)
I eat a banana with soynut butter
before I head to the gym
for a workout of epic proportions.

This "Hollywood" gym
is not exactly full of beautiful people.

To my left, a man riding a stationary bike.
To make less of a mess, he neatly placed
newspapers around the bike
for the kind and simple use of
soaking up his puddles of sweat.

Upstairs, an Asian woman in too tight
black spandex shorts, pink-white striped top,
bright blue chuck taylors
swings her arms as she runs on the eliptical
as though she is about to take flight.

I have two friends at the gym.
The Schwarzenegger-looking trainer--
I don't know his name, but he looks like a "Brad"
or maybe a "Mike"-- and Sandy.

Sandy is probably 75 or 80 years old,
he has never been married,
he was almost married a few times.
Marriage is not worth it, he says,
how can you be with one person forever?

Sandy is a good looking man.
I can tell by the twinkle in his eyes,
he used to be quite the heartbreaker.
He tells me that he only wanted to date
good looking girls, no big mamas.

We both know this gym is not
the place to meet anyone of interesting
character.

Driving home in a sweat soaked t-shirt
is not exactly the most flattering attire.
Today I wore my yellow "Indiana" shirt--
I hate that state and so does Dean Young.