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I don't like gay bars. I find them dark, crowded, loud, and pretentious. And as I approach my late 30's, it has become more difficult to stay out late (and perhaps more importantly), the effort I have to make to maintain my 32 waist has increased. I spend a lot of time working out for both my physical and mental health and a lot less time in bars. So, I’ve learned to combine my workout with the gay dating scene.

For many gay men, the athletic ventures of the city as an opportunity to find a relationship (or just sex) remain largely unexplored. But in a city with organized leagues for gay swimmers, rugby players, cheerleaders--even a gay rodeo--the gay athletic community offers the gay man who likes in-shape gay men (and which one of us doesn't?), a whole new outlook on dating.

On several occasions, sex for me was found not while wearing my $200 Kenneth Coles at G-bar but, rather, in a pair of old running shoes. While the Chelsea boys comb, pluck, coiffe and dress in clothes requiring a second mortgage, I have found many dates in athletic wear. I would recommend the following ensemble: Short running shorts (try Niketown on 59th St. or Jack Rabbit on 14th) and a tight white, partially see-through t-shirt (I like the basic cotton t from American Apparel) on a hot summer day. If your shorts are extra short, be sure to get a pre-run waxing (I recommend Homme Spa on Madison). With my t-shirt soaking wet from sweat, nipples blaring through the see-through, and my muscular runner's thighs very exposed, a pitstop to get water or (even better) to tie my shoe has rendered me the recipient of numbers of prospective suitors while running up the bike lane on 6th Avenue between Houston and 23rd. Last fall, after I fell off my bike (leaving me spread eagle on the corner of 6th and Christopher), a passer-by asked me out while I was on my way to get x-rays of my potentially broken wrist. Barring similar medical emergencies, an athletic outing on the streets of Chelsea or the West Village can lead to some interesting encounters while also increasing physical self-improvement and emotional well-being. If nothing else, there is nothing like getting sweaty and dirty before you get sweaty and dirty.

But, for those who want a more structured social environment to begin your adventures, I recommend the Frontrunners, a group of welcoming gay and lesbian runners who run together twice per week on Saturday mornings and Wednesday evenings. Runs are between four and six miles in Central Park. During marathon training season, they also have additional long runs along the Hudson River Park (see frny.org for schedule). After the run, the frontrunners meet at a church for breakfast and announcements. For first-time visitors, the breakfast is free (go for that reason alone!) and $5 for all others. I have been a marathon runner for years but never joined the frontrunners. With many excuses, such as "Running is a solitary sport" or "I don't like to talk while I run," I delayed joining for years. But this year, while running during the annual Gay and Lesbian Pride run the day before the pride parade (see nyrrc.org), I made the decision to join. Last Saturday, I met my fellow runners (all of whom I approached as prospective future ex-boyfriends) on the 72nd Street Transverse in Central Park. There was a larger than expected crowd, about 50 men and about 10 women--all with great legs, some in spandex running shorts, some without shirts. Indeed, it was somewhat like a friendly bar with added daylight, minus the alcohol, plus the work-out that keeps my waist in check. After mandatory introductions (including cheers for all the first-time visitors), I began running with the group, but as a relatively slow runner, I was quickly passed by most of the runners. I thought, "at least I gave it a shot," and was getting ready to use my ipod as my running companion, when a cute, late 30-something asked, "Would you like to run with me?" "I thought you'd never ask," I thought. He had a cute face, dark eyes, a goatee, clear skin, and and with the sweat dripping off his white t-shirt, I was hoping the run would lead to dessert chez-moi.

Jordan was an interpreter who works for the federal court system. He represented clients who did not speak English, translating from Spanish (for the Latinos) and from French (for the West Africans). After months in Africa, I was hoping that Jordan would be my first lay back in the U.S. During our 5 mile run, we talked about my recent return from Africa, his exposure to the healthcare system due to an ex-boyfriend who had frequent cluster headaches (and many other problems, apparently), and his experience with the running group. He spoke fluent French without an accent, which I found incredibly sexy, as a result od dating a French boyfriend and living in France for a year. After our run, we headed to breakfast and ate together. After breakfast, he started to say goodbye, and, while I was acutely disappointed, I gave him my number, hoping there would be a next time when I would get to see more of Jordan.


When I was growing up, I was scared of sports. The hand-eye coordination, lack of interest ("in that stupid baseball game"), and fear of being called a "sissy" or "gay boy" kept me off the softball field at any occasion I could get. But at some point, probably in high school, I approached sports with a new-found enthusiasm. I had struggled with my weight since childhood, always being slightly overweight, and as sexuality entered the picture, it became important to me to keep my weight in check. And as depression seeped in through the long days of studying in college and medical school, I found sports to be my best long-term anti-depressant. Now I embrace athleticism, not just for the advantages above, but for the opportunity to meet a disciplined cutie with nice legs and a flat stomach. As someone who is athletic prefers to spend time outside during daylight hours (and who, at age 36, gets tired by 10 pm), finding dates by the more traditional means, such as bars and dance clubs, doesn't work for me anymore. When did dating in the gay world become a strict venture, with rules about how to dress, where to meet, how to interact? I have found that a great first date can be in LaBucca in a shirt and tie--or on 9th Avenue just outside in shorts and a tank top.

I do have a date next week with a modern dancer. As I was making my plans with the dancer, Jordan called, asking if I want to meet him for dinner.....

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