We swiped and we matched. You looked like an interesting guy. You had so many interests. You looked good. You were ideal. Not quite off-the-shelf, unique and so I decided to meet up with you. You invited me to come to meet you after your run with your running club that you habitually do every Monday evening at Battersea Park. Again, this reinforces your athletic profile. I told you that I didn’t run too much but I like to keep in shape.

I met you at the pub that you told me. This was where I was greeted by many of your running club friends. It was Christmas so we had to go upstairs and sit at tables. It was a very intimate location. I was expecting a casual pub vibe yet it felt like a speed date but with 5 others on the table at the same time. And it wasn’t at speed. Everyone knew each other and they seemed to know you. You said you are the Membership Secretary and you talk to me like you are selling me a brochure. The others on the table also tried to convince me. Telling the stories of their coming out and joining the running club. It felt a bit like a cult. And to be honest, I felt like a lamb in a room of wolves. Your smile was friendly and I can see your eyes eating me up. But I couldn’t continue. This was too much for me. This was not what I would consider a date. You are too much for me. I cannot satisfy you. I am not malleable and I’m sorry. It’s not you. It’s me.