CAUGHT IN THE MAZE WITH A GYM RAT

Forgot to post this a couple of weeks ago. Sorry for the delay. 

Three nights in Toronto, a first opportunity to check out the city as I consider moving to a new place next year. On my first evening, after walking for miles down trendy Queen Street until I came to Lake Ontario (and then making the long trek back to my hotel), I temporarily changed my location on a dating app, making it clear that I was only visiting while considering a move within the next year.

Twenty-four hours later, I had ten men reaching out, welcoming me to the city. True, some seemed to be looking for a hookup but they were friendly, not creepy. They communicated in clear sentences. (That should be a given, but these days, it’s not!) As I politely responded to messages, more came through. Several became back-and-forth chats that took me into the wee hours of the morning. I finally signed off, intent on getting up early to jog along the lake and wanting to pack in as much time as possible exploring neighborhoods, wondering if any might become my future home.

The next day, I had one of the guys, William, texting and leaving phone messages. He sounded just as friendly as he had been online. He wanted to join me for coffee after work and going to the gym.

Sure. Why not?

I looked back at his profile. Three years older than me, he looked extremely buff and far younger than fifty-seven. I’m well aware that many guys post pics that are from far back in their archives, possibly even from a time before selfies were a thing. I’m also quite hesitant to go out with men who are bulky. It’s an apples and oranges thing. What in the world would they see in me?!

Despite my reservations, I agreed to meet. If I’m really going to give a new city a chance, I have to be more open to new experiences. Besides we’d laughed plenty over the phone.

The plan was that William would pick me up at my hotel and then show me The Danforth, a well-known Greek area in Toronto. Perfect! It had been on my list of places to see.

My mind raced with a few worries. What if his entire motivation was to take me back to his place? While there seemed to be mutual interest, I wasn’t up for a hookup. That would be an empty distraction. What if he dumped me somewhere on Danforth and I had to schlep back on my own? I Google Mapped a return route—a long walk that would likely add a couple of blisters to my feet but doable.

As I got ready, I gazed out at the darkening skies. When I looked again, it had started to rain. William texted to ask if I was wearing shorts or pants. An odd question but I figured he was having a mini crisis. What to wear, what to wear...He wanted to make a good impression. It seemed flattering.

While I waited for a slow elevator, William texted that he’d arrived. As soon as I got in the car, he changed the plan. “I’ve had a busy day, I’m feeling tired. Let’s forget about The Danforth. How about I just drive you around a few local neighborhoods?”

Ouch. Definitive disinterest. It immediately felt presumptuous for me to even buckle my seat belt. Maybe he’d just drive me around the block and announce that the tour was over.

He’d had a chance to glance at me walking from the hotel to the car. With his tinted windows, I could only steal a glance as he put the car in drive. Okay, I didn’t feel any physical attraction either. Yes, his online photos were indeed dated, but he looked fine. Just not my type.

It turned out that he drove me around for an hour. He was cordial though he wasn’t nearly as inquisitive as he’d been in messages or over the phone. If it is possible to grit your teeth while maintaining a conversation, that’s what he was doing. The poor guy. It was like he’d gotten suckered into playing tour guide for some friend of a friend who’d flown in from Vancouver. Only he didn’t have that friend to call up after everything was over to say, “You owe me, man. You owe me big.”

He was a true gym rat. I’m sure he mentioned his gym a dozen times during the tour, a remarkable feat given that he was navigating unexpected road closures and spouting off Toronto facts, amassed from a lifetime living in the city. During the entire drive, I couldn’t shake off that quick jolt of rejection that came as soon as I got in William’s car. No doubt, I’d disappointed as I stepped toward it, my chicken legs in full view. Yes, I should’ve worn pants. I guess my whole body looked slight. While I gained something—a few more glimpses of Toronto—he’d wasted an evening. Heck, he’d even cut short his gym workout.

I began to worry again as we neared my hotel. Maybe I’d misread his coolness. What if he expected me to invite him up? It seemed unfathomable but, if I had a better read on men, maybe I wouldn’t still be single. As he pulled up, he made things very clear, extending his hand for a formal handshake and responding to my profuse thanks for his time with, “Maybe we’ll grab dinner if you move here.” It was a dead-in-the-water let’s-do-lunch.

I retreated to the lobby, long enough for him to drive away, before stepping out again. I headed to a nearby grocery store to pick up dinner for one. Even though neither of us felt a connection, I’m sure disappointment lingered with both of us as evening drifted into night. I tossed and turned trying to fall asleep as an air conditioning unit sputtered loudly and a sobering notion flitted about in my mind. A move across the country won’t suddenly make dating any easier.