He strutted through town in luminous tights,
Shouting, “Squats are essential for Saturday nights!”
He’d bench-press his groceries, jog with his Nan,
Then flirt with three florists and a bin man named Stan.

“Keeping up with the women,” he’d say with a grin,
“Takes biceps of steel and a very strong chin.”
He did yoga with nurses, Pilates with vets,
And once pulled a hamstring while snogging brunettes.

He dated a dentist, a dancer, a mime,
And got dumped mid-zumba for losing track of time.
His diary was chaos, all kisses and crunches,
With romantic encounters between protein lunches.

He tried speed-dating once, brought dumbbells along,
Flexed mid-convo and burst into song.
“Cardio is key to a passionate night,
And burpees are foreplay if you do them just right.”

One Tuesday he tripped on a Swiss exercise ball,
While texting three girlfriends and ducking a call.
He blamed his collapse on low-carb regret,
And proposed to a stranger he'd just barely met.

Now the town knows his name, he’s a local celeb,
With thighs like tree trunks and a mind made of web.
They say if you whisper “glute bridge” at dawn,
He’ll appear doing lunges across someone’s lawn.

So here lies the tale of the flexible gent,
Whose romantic life runs on protein and sweat.
Let this be a lesson, if stamina you seek:
Beware of leg day... and dating all week.