I’d like to start by saying a big screw you to whomever put it out there that you’d stop breaking out in your twenties.

Ok now that that’s out of the way, here’s a comprehensive guide to running into your ex at the gym.

Step 1: take pre-workout. Yeah ok it might give you a slight palpitation but that’s the whole point.

Step 2: Big Bootie Mix 11. Or 16. Definitely not 18.

Step 3: Fill up your water bottle at the little fountain.

Step 4: Do a warm up. Walk on the treadmill, or convince yourself you can run a mile even though you have the lungs of an asthmatic sixth-grader.

Step 5: spot the little twerp in the distance. This is when you’ll feel your heart start to sink a little, which is an odd feeling given the pre-workout is now causing you to believe that you’re hot shit on the treadmill. You probably look like a drowned rat.

Step 6: pretend you’re blind. For me, that’s not hard because I refuse to wear my glasses and my optometrist refuses to prescribe me contacts (we’re at an impasse here).

Step 7: it’s time to get off the treadmill and go to the weights but le twerp is in the section you need to use. Here, either keep pretending you’re blind and just stroll straight up to the weights, or find the hottest man at the gym and use something next to him. (Both are scary).

Step 8: at this point, you’ve successfully avoided le twerp by a combination of pretending to be blind and using two enormous dumbells instead of the barbell you’ve really needed.

Step 9: cool down and stretch. This is where it gets hairy. You can’t see le twerp, and you assume he has ~left the building~. You stroll with the enormous confidence of the pre-workout adderall high into the yoga room to stretch. AND THERE HE IS. THE ONLY OTHER FUCKING PERSON IN THIS GODDAMN ROOM.

Step 10: keep pretending you’re blind. Except you can’t, because he knows you’ve seen him. He waves. Your brain cell is telling you to use the nearest emergency exit because that pit in your stomach is starting to become an issue. You give him the smallest grimace known to man, the tiniest acknowledgement you can bear.

Step 11: ASS UP IN THE AIR. TOUCH YOUR TOES. DO A SPLIT.

Step 12: you wait until he has left and suddenly all the adrenaline leaves your body and the pit in your stomach swells until it seems almost all-encompassing. You walk out to your car in the parking lot and hold it in until you put your seat belt on. This is where you cry.

Step 13: put on Landslide by the Chicks. It will make things worse. I’m not an advocate of driving while actually blind, so attempt to finish crying in the parking lot (for the time being).

Step 14: drive home. Park. Put on Fields of Gold by Eva Cassidy. Cry a lot more. You will eventually feel like you have nothing left inside of you.

Step 15: get yourself together because you have 298 Anki cards on the autonomic nervous system to finish. It will be ok. Tell yourself this, even though you don’t believe it.

I think it’s hard to encapsulate both the simultaneous feeling of enormous possibility and the deep loneliness that you find in your mid-twenties. It’s hard to pick yourself up every morning knowing that you used to have someone to share your day with but that they’re a stranger now. I guess some people are just meant to be lessons, but compared to being taught the physiology of the heart, learning how to really heal it is proving to be the toughest lecture yet.