Running With Beefy.

Okay. I need help here. I met a (particularly beefy) guy at a funeral the other day. Why are you smirking? Is it not socially acceptable to prey on The Hopefully Sexually Frustrated Grieving? You think that's bad? My other ex-boyfriends I've picked up - or rather been picked up by - at a gay club (I shit you not), an Elton John concert (no, not even the same guy), the communal bathroom at Burn (what? they weren't communal?) and one at an all boys' school reunion (I suppose I was asking for that).

Anyway, I've actually known Particularly Beefy Guy for a while. We grew up in the same city and our social circles must have crossed paths at times. In fact, we belonged to the same social circle. Where I come from, there are only two social circles: Those That Go To Church, and Those That Don't (I think you'll find that during our youths we belonged to the latter).

Particularly Beefy Guy: Shoh! It's been a while, Pant. How are you? Where are you living? What are you doing with yourself?

(Three questions in a row. He must think I'm super hot.)

The Pant: I'm good, thanks. (Was thinking of throwing in "recently single" but thought that that might be too much of an advertisement.). Still in Durbs (shit, should have said 'Durban'. Sounds like I'm trying to be cool. Like oooo! I'm so cool! I live in Durbs. Bugger). Still teaching. You?

PBG: Same old same old.

TP: (What is same old? Have I ever known this?). Ah, okay. Well, cool. (Cool? Did I just say that same old same old was 'cool'?)

PBG: Hey, how's your brother (no, don't ask about my brother. Keep talking about me. It's much more fun. Keep focussing on my boobs)?

TP: Well, he's been jolling up a storm. Going wild. Got divorced last year. A rite of passage, I suppose. I can't keep up with him.

PBG: Me too.

TP: Did I say I can't keep up with him? Pffffft... I so can keep up with him.

(At this point my kidneys skidaddled down to my toes and my liver ate its way into my uterus - it figured it was the least used organ in my body and would be safest there.)

PBG: But it's getting in the way of my Comrades training.

TP: Oh, you run? I've just started.  (Why did I say this?  I don't really run.  I fall over and cough up lungs is what I do.)

PBG: Have you joined a club?

TP: A club? As in not just The BF and me?

PGB: No, like, with hundreds of runners.

TP: Really? How many of them are men?

PGB: Most of them.

TP: When can I start?

Okay. So here's the problem: I start tomorrow. At 05h15. And I can't run five paces without falling over.

I just want Particularly Beefy Guy to find me attractive enough to want to sit over a meal, pretend to listen to what I'm saying and picture me naked. How is this ever going to happen if he has seen me exercising? 

My pick-up skills: Fail. Epic.