How I Turned My Crush Into Free Personal Training Sessions

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My first real crush-turned-boyfriend was never supposed to happen. No, really. But here’s how it did:

The summer before my senior year in high school I was on another one of my “this is the summer I’m going to get skinny” fits, despite my 115 lb. weight and my size 4 dress size. I signed up for a membership at the gym because if the peer pressure to wear all the latest trends and drive the coolest car wasn’t enough, high school required I do it all with washboard abs. Since I was a dancer, I was in relatively good shape through high school but the summer before senior year, I was convinced would be the year of the protruding hipbone for my Citizens of Humanity jeans.

Upon membership I was given, nay pushed into, a complimentary personal training session so the gym could pimp out the personal training service. The personal trainer I’d was assigned to was at least 6 foot, with floppy chestnut hair, an impossibly white smile, big brown eyes and a dimple in his left cheek. His name was Bobby and he couldn’t have been much older than I was. He also couldn’t have been anymore of what I wasn’t looking for in a guy.

During my hour-long session, I followed Bobby as we did reps around the weight machines that worked muscles I didn’t know I had until that day. When the hour neared its end, I’d learned more about Bobby than I’d learned about working out. He was 20 and a sophomore at the university just outside of town. He’d picked up personal training as a summer job and ended up loving it so much that he was working toward a business degree to start his own training company. He lived with his four best friends, in a virtual frat house without actual Greek letters, and he drove a black Toyota 4runner. And as I learned his favorite movie (Homeward Bound) and his favorite thing to do on the weekends (hit the running trails) I’d learned enough to know he wasn’t my type.

In high school, I’d convinced myself my type of guy was the unshaven loner in the back row in class who took pride in carving The Doors’ lyrics into desk surfaces, the guy who read books I’d never heard of, who couldn’t wait to graduate high school, and leave town. He usually played an instrument and with luck, one that was loud enough to annoy my father. Bobby, with his practically catalog boyish good looks, Nalgene water bottle, and a smile that might as well have “dinged!” was definitely not that guy. In fact, Bobby was so clean cut, it was beginning to annoy me.

But each time I thought I had Bobby pinned as just another smarmy frat guy with a protein shake addiction and way too many Polo shirts, he’d say something like, “I won my fourth grade spelling bee with the word ‘symbiotic’ and then I tripped on stage when I got my trophy.” He was cocky in a humble sort of way. He smiled more than I probably have in my entire life and though normally that made me uneasy (no one is just that happy all the time) he was practically dripping with boyish charm that was hard to ignore.

Bobby was my first real crush, one I actually got to know despite thinking at first that we could never truly get along. Much to my surprise we dated for almost three years and were best friends the whole way through, until life took us in different directions and we broke up.

The good news is that as it turns out, there’s a way to score free personal training after all – date your trainer.

This essay was submitted by Crushable reader Anjli Mehta. You can follow her on Twitter @OhHeyAnj and read more from her at This Single Life.