Fitness is my life.

The first line of Kevin’s internet profile turned me off instantly.

I was only a week removed from a wine-induced declaration that my internet dating days were over. Yet there I was, sitting in my car, staring at another profile.

I should have deleted my account, I thought.

“Fitness is my life?... The worst,” I muttered to myself, scanning the rest of the page.

He was really handsome though, and he shared my faith, and his initial email proved that he’d actually taken the time to read my profile.

Unlike so many guys who’d initiated romantic overtures with, “Hey girl,” Kevin had read the words I’d painstakingly written.

But there was that terrible headline again, “Fitness is my life.”

It was so bad. Even for a personal trainer.

“Yeah. It’s too much,” I said aloud. That was it. I’d stick to my no-internet dating decree and delete every dating app when I got home. The end.

My thumbs responded with, “You seem like a great guy, but you should know...the couch is my life. Good luck with your search.”

That should do it, I thought. A personal trainer wouldn’t want to date a self-proclaimed couch potato. He’d want a woman who thought going to the gym was a great date night and ate sprouts for every meal. He wouldn’t want me: a nacho eating, Bachelor watching, couch rat.

I hadn’t even exited my car when my phone pinged. Another email from Kevin.

“You probably think I’m a gym rat,” were his first words.

Yes.

“And that I want to date someone who’ll work out with me all the time.”

Yep.

“Like I’m some kind of meathead who spends every hour working out.”

Well...I mean, yes.

“But I don’t. And I don’t want to date someone like that either. It just gets competitive and weird. I’m looking for someone who’d be up for a hike with me from time to time.”

Oh. Huh...Interesting.

I liked to hike, and I didn’t really have anyone to do that with often.

But still. My decree.

I politely declined once more, but the thing was - I was interested. Kevin was quick and persistent. I didn’t run into that often.

So I ended my next “brush off,” with a hopeful challenge. “Unless you can convince me otherwise...”

Maybe he’d accept. Maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, his response or lack thereof would tell me everything.

The next email took a little longer to arrive. The subject line read: Your Honor...

Seven years later and Kevin has more than proven his case. We do hike occasionally and watch The Bachelor always.