My weekly crush

Every Monday night at around 6.10pm I see him. He’s tall and lithe, has a scorpion tattoo on his left arm (or that’s what it looks like from my vantage), has grey, brownish hair and a moustache. He has a look similar to Nick Cave or David Bowie and looks like his work would be creative. Perhaps he’s an architect or furniture designer.

He has two daughters, one about 10, the other probably 14. He’s pale skinned but theirs is olive and they have long dark hair and brown eyes. I imagine their mother to be a Balinese princess like Lindy Klim, or a Spanish beauty like Penelope Cruz. It’s this calibre of woman I imagine him with – someone beautiful and exotic.

I don’t know his name, I don’t even know whether they’re his daughters, but every Monday night for the past five weeks during my spin class, I’ve watched him and his girls dry off after their swim by the indoor pool below.

He first struck me because he bears an uncanny resemblance to a former flame – someone I haven’t seen since the day we parted. Past loves can be like that, if you see someone in the present day who bears any kind of resemblance, it can make your heart flutter and blood pressure drop. But part of this man’s attraction is that he has a family, something my ex constantly promised for us, but could never deliver.

In an environment where most of the swimmers are mainstream types, he stands out. He sweeps his hair back from his face and strolls up and down alongside the pool talking on his blackberry. I wonder who he’s talking to. His girlfriend, his wife, a friend, a work colleague?

His older daughter saw me watching them last week. Every now and then the swimmers below will look up to the spin class above. The area with the exercise bikes has glass windows floor to ceiling and looks down on the swimming pools below. When she and I locked eyes, it didn’t bother me that she saw me. If it was him who caught my eye, it would be a different story. I’d hasten to turn away.

I’m looking forward to seeing him again – and again, and again. It’s a thrill and welcome distraction from the hum drum of the regular spin class. Seeing him and his girls makes my Monday evenings that bit brighter and helps the class go that much quicker.

As I cycle to the blasting tunes on my stationary bike among the other spin devotees, I wonder if anyone has ever looked at me this way. Do any of my fellow exercisers think: “there she is, she’s here...yay!” Somehow I don’t think so. But it is nice to speculate.

The Gym Class Cult

I attend the odd Body Pump classes at the local gym/swim club and the comment: "in life there are pumpers and non-pumpers" by a particularly ebullient instructor a few weeks ago, was no more apparent than in today's 9.20am class (when most people are working).

Comprised majority 40+ year olds, and mostly women, (albeit littered with a few graying men), these pump bunnies came five or 10 minutes earlier to set up - and catch up.

In the few minutes before the instructor had the tunes and iron pumping, some of the 'regulars' cordoned off and engaged in breezy chit chat (in the vein you'd expect to hear at a weekly Mother's Club).

As the class 'newbies' looked on (we had no gym bud to turn to) I began to liken the picture before me to a cult phenomenon. It's true, like attracts like and birds of a feather flock together. This class of happy body pumpers demonstrates our essential need to connect with those like us (pumpers as against non-pumpers).

Who the hell cares if some people's connection comes in chewing while burning the fat with practical strangers over dumb bells and lycra? For me it's fun and curious to watch, and while I strive to remain on team 'pumpers' for fitness sake - I'll be staying on the other side of my step board.