The Guy At the Park

It was a warm and sunny sabbath afternoon, one of the first warm days of the season, and my mom and I went to the park to soak up the sun. We were barely past the parking lot when I noticed a shirtless guy with boxing gloves practicing with his personal trainer.

It was hot.

I pointed him out to my mom with a giggle (I don’t get out much) as we walked to the bleachers overlooking the track. Shirtless Guy was within viewing distance on our right, and my eyes kept flickering back to him as we took in the scenery.

“I’m compelled by my lust to walk the track,” I told my mom.

“Ok, so walk the track,” she replied nonchalantly.

“Ma! You’re supposed to stop me!”

I explained to my seasoned Christian mother that she should not be encouraging my lustful pursuits, but she was too tired to engage with my ardent blabbering.

Then suddenly, I saw him. In my mind’s eye.

That Godly Man I Admire. 

Would he be proud of me if I gave in and walked closer to Shirtless Guy so I could get a better look, maybe catch his eye?

No. He wouldn’t be.

My flesh was ready to breeze on over to the track, and I could visualize myself getting up and following through, but I quieted down.

Just don’t.

Shirtless Guy and his trainer soon left the park, and I felt a shift within me, a faint magnetic pull toward the parking lot.

No.

My mom and I lingered a bit longer to get some more sunlight and comment on the numerous dogs and babies who passed by. Enough time had passed for me to safely assume Shirtless Guy and the trainer had left the vicinity.

“You ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

Indeed, when we reached the parking lot, he was gone.

 

I had no regrets.

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