Sometimes it's not the result, but the experience that counts. I owe a debt of gratitude to Chase Amante and all here who have supported me in my quest to become a man women love, because without the habit of cold approach, this experience would never have taken place. And that would have been a great pity. There are some moments in life so memorable that you instantly know you will hold onto them as long as you live.
At present I live in a city on the Eastern Seaboard that is a major air transit hub. Despite this, in order to get to my specific destination in the Middle East for a job interview over the Easter weekend, I needed to change in another major US city. So late Friday afternoon, I had cleared security and was walking toward the gate for my flight, when I beheld a sight for sore eyes enter a fast-food restaurant on the concourse.
She was 6'2" and had rich wavy hair almost down to her hips. Her body was beyond perfect, this fact emphasized by her choice of garment for the flight, a close-fitting, brightly-colored athletic suit with the logo of a well-known university sporting team. I wandered in behind her; alongside the shelves with prepared sandwiches she gave me a little "look", then turned to contemplate the selection of fresh-to-order foods displayed above the counter. I left the restaurant and posted up nearby, casually leaning against a pillar.
Presently she emerged bearing a paper bag and turned to walk down the concourse. Intrigued, I followed at a safe distance. To my delight she entered the seating area for my own gate and proceeded toward a row of seats that was completely empty. She chose one and set down a bag of chips from her meal on the neighboring seat.
I walked past her, made eye contact and watched as she reached out and removed the bag of chips to make room for me to sit. This was significant, as there were at least three more seats further down I could have equally well chosen to leave a small gap between us. I thanked her and sat right next to her.
Game on. There was something very deep inside driving her toward such a specialist profession.
She was a swimmer, she told me modestly. This made it easy to relate, as I was a competitive swimmer in my teens myself. But never, as I discovered, to anything like the level of the person now sitting next to me. I asked her about the team spirit, the rivalry; I guessed that the competitive atmosphere on a women's team must get pretty nasty, and she giggled and confirmed that.
I asked what total distance of training she did per day, to get a read on what sort of level she was at... this is a good indicator if you know something about the sport.
10 kilometers per day, she replied. 6 days a week. Sundays off.
WTF?
10 kilometers daily is almost the level of a Michael Phelps or a Matt Biondi. In high school I was doing 2 to 2.5 km per day in preparation for competitions, and people were talking about it in the corridors. I was in first place across the board within the school three years in succession and was competing at county and regional events.
This girl was serious. I asked about what strokes she did and what distances.
It took about 20 minutes to tease it out of her. I put my hand on her thigh, and said with a smile, a sidelong glance and a wink: "You keep it pretty well-hidden, don't you?"
She told me, with a blush and averting her eyes, that she didn't like to boast. No kidding.
This chick is on the US National Swim Team.
As in... she knows a female US Olympic medalist personally and considers her an inspiring rival, a motivation to achieve. She isn't quite at the level yet to be on television and recognized nationwide as a household name, but she has competed internationally and won several medals.
I now find she even has a Wikipedia entry. She actually holds a national record in one specific discipline. Not that she told me that fact when we spoke. Like I said, she keeps it well-hidden.
Not long after, I sensed it was time to move things forward or get out. The last thing I wanted to do was to become a social burden as we waited at the departure gate, and she'd already gotten out her MacBook and logged into the airport WiFi during our low-key chat. The university she's at is outside the city, and I speculated that she probably didn't come into town very often, except to transit through, like now when she was visiting family on the Easter weekend. She confirmed that no, she didn't.
I joked that I didn't exactly go out to her college town often, and we had a good laugh about that. Nonetheless, I told her I'd hoped we might be able to do lunch of coffee, and asked her to leave her number. Of course, she had a boyfriend. In any case it's a total joke; she's from another world. But I had to ask.
She was dreadfully sweet about it though. She was evidently happy to be asked, and happy to be noticed. It's a source of endless amazement to me that one so accomplished and brilliant can also be so modest.
I went and sat in another area and let her get on. When I left the plane at my transit location, as she waited for her gate-checked baggage, I wished her a happy weekend with her parents and she thanked me.
Hope I see her on TV some day soon
At present I live in a city on the Eastern Seaboard that is a major air transit hub. Despite this, in order to get to my specific destination in the Middle East for a job interview over the Easter weekend, I needed to change in another major US city. So late Friday afternoon, I had cleared security and was walking toward the gate for my flight, when I beheld a sight for sore eyes enter a fast-food restaurant on the concourse.
She was 6'2" and had rich wavy hair almost down to her hips. Her body was beyond perfect, this fact emphasized by her choice of garment for the flight, a close-fitting, brightly-colored athletic suit with the logo of a well-known university sporting team. I wandered in behind her; alongside the shelves with prepared sandwiches she gave me a little "look", then turned to contemplate the selection of fresh-to-order foods displayed above the counter. I left the restaurant and posted up nearby, casually leaning against a pillar.
Presently she emerged bearing a paper bag and turned to walk down the concourse. Intrigued, I followed at a safe distance. To my delight she entered the seating area for my own gate and proceeded toward a row of seats that was completely empty. She chose one and set down a bag of chips from her meal on the neighboring seat.
I walked past her, made eye contact and watched as she reached out and removed the bag of chips to make room for me to sit. This was significant, as there were at least three more seats further down I could have equally well chosen to leave a small gap between us. I thanked her and sat right next to her.
- Marty: Traveling to the same place as me?
RecordHolder: Yeah!
Marty: I noticed you as you left the restaurant with your lunch. That's some delightful long hair you have there! What's your name?
Game on. There was something very deep inside driving her toward such a specialist profession.
She was a swimmer, she told me modestly. This made it easy to relate, as I was a competitive swimmer in my teens myself. But never, as I discovered, to anything like the level of the person now sitting next to me. I asked her about the team spirit, the rivalry; I guessed that the competitive atmosphere on a women's team must get pretty nasty, and she giggled and confirmed that.
I asked what total distance of training she did per day, to get a read on what sort of level she was at... this is a good indicator if you know something about the sport.
10 kilometers per day, she replied. 6 days a week. Sundays off.
WTF?
10 kilometers daily is almost the level of a Michael Phelps or a Matt Biondi. In high school I was doing 2 to 2.5 km per day in preparation for competitions, and people were talking about it in the corridors. I was in first place across the board within the school three years in succession and was competing at county and regional events.
This girl was serious. I asked about what strokes she did and what distances.
It took about 20 minutes to tease it out of her. I put my hand on her thigh, and said with a smile, a sidelong glance and a wink: "You keep it pretty well-hidden, don't you?"
She told me, with a blush and averting her eyes, that she didn't like to boast. No kidding.
This chick is on the US National Swim Team.
As in... she knows a female US Olympic medalist personally and considers her an inspiring rival, a motivation to achieve. She isn't quite at the level yet to be on television and recognized nationwide as a household name, but she has competed internationally and won several medals.
I now find she even has a Wikipedia entry. She actually holds a national record in one specific discipline. Not that she told me that fact when we spoke. Like I said, she keeps it well-hidden.
Not long after, I sensed it was time to move things forward or get out. The last thing I wanted to do was to become a social burden as we waited at the departure gate, and she'd already gotten out her MacBook and logged into the airport WiFi during our low-key chat. The university she's at is outside the city, and I speculated that she probably didn't come into town very often, except to transit through, like now when she was visiting family on the Easter weekend. She confirmed that no, she didn't.
I joked that I didn't exactly go out to her college town often, and we had a good laugh about that. Nonetheless, I told her I'd hoped we might be able to do lunch of coffee, and asked her to leave her number. Of course, she had a boyfriend. In any case it's a total joke; she's from another world. But I had to ask.
She was dreadfully sweet about it though. She was evidently happy to be asked, and happy to be noticed. It's a source of endless amazement to me that one so accomplished and brilliant can also be so modest.
I went and sat in another area and let her get on. When I left the plane at my transit location, as she waited for her gate-checked baggage, I wished her a happy weekend with her parents and she thanked me.
Hope I see her on TV some day soon
