Sometimes in life there are things that just fly below the radar without anyone truly noticing it. These things range from a true love that you’ve been friends with since the first grade but never considered relationship material to the Dollar Menu at Wendy’s. For me it that thing which had eluded me for the five years I’ve been here was the PFG. Upon a recent visit, I realized that I am the only person who’s let this diamond in the rough go unnoticed.

I was brought to the gym by my roommates who were attending their weekly fitness classes. They told me that if I drove them to the gym and behaved myself, they would buy me a treat when we went grocery shopping.

While I was waiting patiently in the lobby I noticed a lot of rather attractive looking coeds going upstairs to the workout facility. This intrigued me greatly so I made trip up the stairs into the unknown. I couldn’t believe my eyes as I walked through the door and saw all of these people solely dedicated to bettering themselves. I had to get in on this.

I realized I had to blend in with the crowd so I took of my parachute pants and Starter jacket, which left me in my briefs and a ‘Vermont Cynic Staff’ shirt. I had seen weightlifters wear their underwear when lifting weights and the Cynic can use all the advertising it can get.

I picked up a barbell with two five pound weights on the end of them and started pulling them towards my chest in quick, jerky motions. An attractive blond female walked by and gave me a wink and a smile. Damn, I must look real good.

I figured since the weight lifting had gone so well I would try my luck at the treadmill. Common logic would tell you that the faster you run on the treadmills, the better you look. I applied this useful logic and set the speed to 10 mph at next to the most attractive girl I could find on the treadmills.

It took me only four seconds to realize that I couldn’t run faster than I am capable of while attempting to look deep into the eyes of the girl. I faded to my left and then tripped off of the treadmill and fell onto hers. This sent her flying backwards over me and onto the floor. I bounced up and quickly walked away as she screamed, “My hip, my hip is broken!” In my opinion 73-year old women with fragile hips shouldn’t be on the treadmills anyway. So maybe the workout room wasn’t all it cracked up to be. I don’t need the workout room. I wandered around the corner to a room where I heard a lot of yelling and loud music. I looked in and saw a lot of women smiling and kicking the air. I spotted a Cynic editor and went in to talk to her. I’m known for blending in like a chameleon. I began kicking and punching into the air with great authority as I made my way towards the Cynic editor. Suddenly I heard more screams than grunts and most of the girls emptied out of the room. I looked down to realize that my briefs weren’t containing me as well as I had thought. Luckily, I think I have the instructor convinced to drop the charges. I collected my clothes and walked down the stairs to where my roommates and the rest of the kick boxing class was consoling each other and drying tears of one another. My appearance at the class hadn’t gone over to well so my roommates acted like they didn’t know me and walked out the door. I caught up to them in the parking lot and all they had to say to me was, “Definitely no treat this week.” I pouted the whole way home.