LGBT Stories

I see Sean four mornings a week at the gym. He runs
the treadmill and I swim, but our schedules are close
enough that we arrive at nearly the same time and
finish our workouts a few minutes apart.

I thought this a coincidence, at first. But I knew
better when I got to know him, and learned to
appreciate him in unimaginable ways.

Our lockers are in the same area; you know how it is
with routine. From the beginning, I enjoyed the ritual
of preparing for our workouts, and if I close my eyes
now I can see every detail of the first time I took
serious notice of Sean getting ready for his run.

As usual, he arrived in jeans, battered sneakers, a
T-shirt and he carried his gear in a knapsack that had
seen better days. From two lockers down a little
before 5 a.m., he smelled both of sleep and strong
musk.
(more…)

Every morning at 5:30 that summer, I was in the local pool. The early-bird
swim, they called it, so early that the lifeguard no longer bothered to
answer her alarm. Good thing I knew the pool manager, who slipped me a key
to open the gate and let myself in.

I’d been alone five mornings a week, stroking through 45 minutes of
non-world-class freestyle, getting the heart-rate up and doing what I could
to tighten the muscles.

Alone, that is, until two weeks ago. I knew him only as Gord, a guy with the
same average fitness goals. He was about 25, a couple years my junior, and
we were the same 6 feet, within a pound or two of 185.

I’d be lying if I suggested I hadn’t taken a good look at his form in the
water, and out of it. He was nicely muscled, but not overly so. Here was a
guy much like me, battling the excesses of life that challenge the wardrobe,
and he was succeeding rather nicely. He had the broad back of a man who swam
and lifted a few weights, the narrow waist of someone waging war with the
calories and winning most of the battles.
(more…)

Getting fit wasn’t going to be easy, and I’ve not been the most disciplined
man in the world. No, this was going to take something extra. This time I
needed help, and so it was that I talked to the monitor at my gym about
finding a personal trainer.

“Very useful if you’re willing to follow the routine, Dave,” Karen said. “If
you’re going to cheat, and stop at the Krispy Kreme on the drive home from
the gym, then you’re just going to waste a lot of money.”

“A Krispy Kreme has never crossed these lips,” I said to her, lying through
my teeth.

And of course she knew it. The extra 10 pounds I was carrying around my
32-year-old midsection wasn’t coming from my overindulgence at the salad
bar.
(more…)