A few of my friends have requested this story, so here we go. 

The scene: I had just moved to Boston and was thinking, “statistically I have such better odds of finding a man here!”(Yes, I’m a fun mix of math nerd and romantic idealist. Good times.)

So, I met said gentleman, who will be referred to as “Quad Damn” going forward, on Bumble. We had a few great dates. He was really into Crossfit. I was really into GORUCK at the time and we talked endlessly about squats, cardio and macros. It was great.

Then, things took a bit of turn.

About two weeks (remember that fact – two weeks) in, Quad Damn went to a wedding. His brother was getting married and he, being the best man, had to deliver a speech. Enter me, self-proclaimed amazing PR pro, to help. We developed talking points, I proofed the speech, helped him practice. It was going to be a beautiful sonnet of brotherly love, humor and hope. And yeah, it went well. Quad Damn even called to tell me about it. While he was drunk. At the wedding.

While that phone call was, in itself, hilarious – Quad Damn crying that he missed me and how happy he was for his brother, etc. – what made it even better was that I had answered that call in my car. My car that has bluetooth, fed through the speaker system. While three of my friends and coworkers were present. (hehehe)

At this point you might be asking yourself, ok, that’s great and all, by why do you call him Quad Damn? And that’s a fair question. Honestly, the story above is more a tangent part of our dating history that I just find entertaining. The real fun began shortly after.

About a month into dating Quad Damn, I tore my rotator cuff training for another GORUCK tough event. Long story short, it sucked and my doctor told me I can’t do those types of fitness events again, unless I wanted surgery and to never regain full use of my shoulder.

You might say I was … upset.

I called my Crossfit loving guy in tears, thinking that, as someone who also loves fitness, he’d understand and could comfort me at this particularly BS of a time. I was sorely mistaken.

Instead of a “oh, sorry babe” or “hun, that sucks! let me bring over some wine.” The response I got from this dude was “oh, that’s not a real-world problem.”

Wait, wait! It’s gets better.

He follows that gem with “check out my new workout gear” and proceeds to send me a bathroom mirror selfie, in his brand new. Shiny.  Bright red. Spandex. Leggings. Leggings that, down the side of them, say “Quad Damn.”

My only regret is that I didn’t save that f*cking photo.