"I think this dude at the gym is stalking me," I whispered into the phone to Pookie while I sweated it out on the elliptical yesterday afternoon.

"No he's not," she said back and went on about those weird people who do a week's worth of grocery shopping at their corner deli. "I mean, who wants to spend ten dollars on a jar of pasta sauce?"

"Agreed. But I'm telling you we are the only two people around and he is choosing to do his squats and shit right next to me. It's annoying."

"If you say so. I have to go. A guy with his arms full of Cliff bars and wasabi peas is trying to snatch my place in line," she said.

For the record, I was only on the phone because the gym was so empty. I looked over and said dude had backed off a bit and gravitated toward the weights by the mirror. Quickly, I got off the machine and went over to the mats to do my nerdy girl sit ups and such. From the balance ball, I eyed said potential gym stalker. He had light brown, curly hair and nice legs. I'm a sucker for guys with on-the-skinny-side legs. He was attractive, and had I been in another state of mind, the whole afternoon could have turned out quite differently. I moved from the ball to the mat with my five pound weights do some core/arm combo stuff that I basically made up.

Side fact: the backsides of my forearms are very scratched because Friday afternoon I decided to take a run through the woods. Normally, I'm quite attentive to the rocks and sticks and such, but on that particular afternoon I was distracted thinking of this shirt I wished I had bought. Mid thought, I tripped over a rock and went Superman flying forward. Put your head up! I told myself before landing on my arms and skidding through the rock and mud like I was stealing home plate. My heart stopped. I stood up. Simultaneously, I caught my breadth and assessed my wounds. My arms were cut and bleeding with rock, mud and sparkles stuck inside the blood. The sparkles are a mystery. My stomach, shorts and upper thighs were covered in dirt and a thick mud/rock burn. I touched my face. Unscathed. Should I continue on my run. I'm okay. Nothing is broken. Does a person in this situation continue running? I asked myself. I looked around, still stunned. In the hundreds of times I had run through these woods, I had never so much as tripped. No you don't keep running! You are not that hard core, I told myself and walked up the cut through to my house. I looked down at my muddy but injury-free legs, dirty shirt, bloody arms - all covered in rocks and sparkles. Weird. At home, took a shower, poured hydrogen peroxide on my cuts, searched for the pain relief Neosporin, and drank a glass of wine.

So yesterday afternoon, at the gym, my scabby arms were definitely visible as I moved in every which direction combining awkward pilates moves with vinyasa flows. But the guy kept getting closer to me. Several of the same machine is places in several spots near the mats, but he went on the one right next to me. My music stopped and I looked down to see Cricket calling, "Hey dude, let me call you back in five minutes. I'm just about to leave the gym," I said and went back to my downward facing dog.

"Alkdoiahoidfoijaishodihf  saidohf akhdfoi oidfh?" said the guy. I pulled one earphone from my ear and said, "Excuse me?"

"Ahoidfhoiaskjdf sdoifj isodmkfoiahsdofuihdspo?" he said.

"I'm sorry, what?" I said pulling the other earphone out and wondering what on earth he was saying.

"Asoidfm oijfmoisdkmfoiskdm odimsdfoisdkjfm?" he repeated. I stared at him, confused.

"Oh you don't speak Arabic?" he said.

"Um, no. No," I replied, so confused.

"I heard you speak in Arabic, so I thought you were Lebanese," he said. I stared blankly. When did he hear me speak in Arabic? I wondered. "And it sounded like listening to Arabic music."

"Dude, this is Rhianna."

"You must get that a lot though...people thinking you are Lebanese." This guy is attractive, I thought, so why on earth is he sabotaging himself? Then I just felt bad for him.

"Well, people think I'm anything that has dark features - Spanish, Lebanese, Turkish..."

"Yeah, I figured," he said. He stood there smiling at me, like he had somehow been successful. He's honestly hitting on me? I'm so confused, I thought. Most confusing pick up line. Ever. I wanted to turn and walk away, but I felt compelled to talk.

"Yeah, but I'm just American...well, Italian in the skin and eyes, but mainly American. Er, um, have a good workout," I said and walked away.

"I thought you spoke Arabic? Who says that?"  I shrieked into the phone to my brother on my walk home.

"No one, Emma. No one says that to anyone. No one says that to anyone but you."

"Go figure."

Emma Dinzebach