This week Ewan talks about the pressures of dating and training. Of course if you want to volunteer, there is a comment box at the bottom of the post?
Tell you what, I’m relatively big and mega sexy (totally is, ed). But, what is the point in being so sexy if no bugger enjoys it?
Okay, let’s give an explanation to act as a foundation here. I lift weights, I take it quite seriously in that I have clearly defined goals that I am working towards, and I compete as a measure of testing how close to those goals I am.
The knock-on effect of taking my training quite seriously is that aspects of my social life take a hit. For the most part I don’t really mind this. I love training, I love the things my body can do. I love being in the gym. And even though I’m probably scowling and bleeding and in pain, I’m smiling on the inside. Honestly.
I haven’t enjoyed getting drunk for a long time. I like some booze. I really enjoy a good beer or G&T, but I’m of the mindset that ‘if one is good then two must be better’, so unless I’m doing one of my bi-annual blowouts I find it easier to just avoid drink on the whole.
So let’s have a look at this foundation – trains a lot, doesn’t drink much and sod all spare time. You can probably see where this is going. My friends often complain that they don’t see me much (I hope you understand guys, soz I’m so shit), so how the flying fuck am I going to meet a girl?
I’ve always said I’d never let training get in the way of relationships, but purely from a logistical standpoint it does. I don’t go out often, and when I do I’m too busy pretending to be a T-Rex to think about talking to a girl. Sure, there’s girls at the gym and at comps. But they’re athletes, they’re there for a purpose and I wouldn’t dream of letching on them during that time.
So that leaves online dating. Fuck me, what a fucking shit show that is. It’s so hard. So, so hard. Endless dates which, at the time of writing, have gone nowhere, be it my fault or theirs. Or nobody’s fault at all. How do you not get demoralised?
And then there is my appearance. I definitely act differently to what my appearance would lead you believe. Folk look at the shaved head, the girth (so sexy) and hear the stupid accent and expect a lager swilling lad lad lad lad. To think that people don’t cast a judgement on you based on your appearance is foolish and naïve, but nothing could be further from who I really am.
Maybe things would be easier if I didn’t train. I don’t know. This post doesn’t have a conclusion or happy ending. How does a person who commits their time and effort to a singular goal, a goal which seems to permeate through all aspects of their life, meet someone new? And then make it work after that?
Answers on a postcard please.
If you want to answer Ewan’s question, you can find him here, at Union Barbell.