Coed Gym Ethics for Men

Men,
When a woman has come to the gym to work out, she has come to work out. She is not there to find a husband, get your phone number, or to be gaped at like an exotic circus animal. Being that you have on your skin tight Affliction shirt and will have no doubt shaved your legs to try and make them look bigger, it is obvious that you are obsessed with looks. Women, however, are obsessed with how they feel about themselves, if they feel beautiful and desirable. She has mustered all her courage to go wrestle her demons at this place called the gym knowing that her every move will be poured over by your slack jawed, deer in the headlights gaze. She knows she will have to work out amongst males who make the free weight area smell like a hamster cage because the women's room was no doubt created by one of your kind since only contains mood lighting and big balls. And as if enduring your foul odor isn't enough, you watch her. You wait for her. You stalk her from machine to machine. You grunt while giving yourself a hernia, straining under the weight of your pride. You pretend to need her bench or even worse, assume we would want to share one with you. You wait in the whirlpool for her swim to be done, hoping she may join you and your swirling back hair. You offer her your personal training services. This is not a petting zoo and if we need a personal trainer, we'll pay for one.

Please note. We watch your eyes. We feel those eyes praying that we will don an elliptical machine for a half hours worth of bouncing away the calories. We see you spying on us during crunches hoping for a glimpse of our girlfriend Victoria. We can see the fantasy play out in your head as you watch us struggle, toil and labor our way to contentment. We also see you walking around as if your Jockey's are a bit too tight and your shirt noticeably too small. We see all your gear from Nike, Adidas, and Under Armor and also notice you're lifting the same weight as us. We notice when you brick on the basketball court and when you can't swim a lap. We notice your drive by of the women's facility, even amongst all those balls in that dim light. So when you see us cock a half smile or bestow a little giggle, we are not attempting to flirt, call your attention, or solicit your advancement. We are merely laughing at you. Let it be your own personal sentinel telling you to run away little man, run away. Humiliation is near.