My personal fuck-you to George

You know, Crazy George, as he playfully referred to himself. George, who hated women because he couldn't communicate with them. George, who apparently flew cross-country to take a dating seminar from models, but showed no evidence of asking for help for his personality disorder, other than some Google searches.

Dan and I had been talking about joining that particular LA Fitness for a couple of months. We were just waiting until the end of August and the start of school, so that he would have more time. My best friend and her husband belong there. The big draw for me is a pool, and operating hours that would allow me to swim laps before and after work, and the possibility of being able to take Yoga classes again. As fate would have it, the first time I would walk through the doors to that facility would be the night that George decided to exact revenge upon total strangers. I was hoping my first tour of the place would be under different circumstances.

Obviously after last Tuesday night, our plan to join will take some reflection and thought. I don't even know if the gym will re-open, and if LA Fitness decided to bulldoze the location and build a memorial out of respect for the 3 beautiful women who were cut down there, in their prime, I would understand and support that 100%.

However, I have firmly decided that if LA Fitness decides to keep that location open, I'm going to be one of the first to walk back into those doors. Once the vigils have been held, and the candles, flowers and heartfelt sentiments of a shell-shocked quiet community have been cleared away, if those doors open for business again, I'll be there. I don't know if Dan will do the same. Of course, he would not have been targeted by this coward had he been there, anyway.

For all of those beautiful girls and women who thought they were just going to work out and then go home that night, for the two women I had to pronounce deceased, for the woman who survived the horrific massacre but can't have the lights off in her own home now, for my patient, who asked me if she was going to die, for all of the survivors, and for all of those suffering without their loved one, and for myself: The first place I'm going to go is back to that aerobics room. I'm going to stay there for as long as I can stand to, and I'm going to say a little prayer for those who died. Not being a praying person, I don't know what I will say, but it will be heartfelt. Then, I'm going to walk over to the spot where George committed his last cowardly act, ending his own life, and I'm going to spit on it and tell him, "Fuck You." That will also be heartfelt.