Cast your mind … You’re running on the treadmill at the gym. Some dude (or chick) hops on the treadmill next to you. You take a peek at your new neighbor’s pace and maybe adjust yours juuuust a wee bit. Every now and then, you check back on his pace and distance run and calories burned to compare and contrast with your own. You start to feel pretty darn good that you’re kicking this guy’s butt in your non-existent treadmill race.
You’ve done it. I’ve done it. We’ve all done it. There’s no shame in it.
However, last week I encountered someone who broke the cardinal rule of treadmill stalking: never, EVER openly admit to your stalkee that you’ve been closely watching his progress.
Here’s what happened: I was putting in a 5K at a moderate pace in the fitness center at Paris Hotel in Las Vegas. I was the youngest person in there by about 20 years and the only female. Immediately after I stopped running and began my walking cool down, the creepy older gentleman on the treadmill to my left said, “Geez, I was getting tired just watching you. And you kept getting faster. What’d you finish at, 8.0?” Duuuuuuuuuude.
Like most Hollywood starlets, I prefer my stalkers to be faceless, voiceless admirers from afar, reveling in my awesomeness but never daring to get too close. Is that too much to ask? I think not. — Mags