Bob droned endlessly about his last date as we jogged along our normal route. He was once again struck by the fact that he never had a second date with the young women he went out with.

“I don’t understand,” he was saying, “I’m a nice guy but I must be doing something wrong.” I just nodded not wanting to waste my limited breath. “It just doesn’t make sense,” he continued, “tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

Being the helpful friend I am I agreed to help troubleshoot his dates. Later that afternoon we were sitting on my boat and discussing his problem. “Tell me from the beginning,” I said, “from the time you drive up to the door.”

“Drive?” he looked at me quizzically, “I usually take my bike and if she doesn’t have a bike we take her car. Is that bad?”

“Not at all!” I replied as I began taking my mental notes, “Then what?”

“Well, we go to the restaurant and park in my usual spot.”

“You mean a block away and then jog to the place?”

“Yeah, it’s free parking and it’s a good way to burn a few extra calories. Besides,” he continued, “I like to try to get them to race with me to the door as an ice breaker.”

I groaned inwardly but just nodded. “What about during dinner?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Come on, you can tell me,” I prodded.

“Well, I may have said something about her choice of food,” he grinned sheepishly. I knew Bob was a die-hard nutritionist but I didn’t know he was obsessed enough to blow a date over it.

“She probably took it in a good way,” I reassured him.

“I don’t think so. She gave me a really funny look when I told her how many calories were in salad dressing.”

I bit my lip, politely nodding, “Well, what about after that?”

“We walked all the way back to her car because she didn’t feel like jogging,” he shrugged, “I didn’t say anything about it though. I figured I could push a little harder the next day.”

I shuddered at the thought of how this actually went. His date must have thought he was a raving lunatic.

“We went to the movies next.”

I had a hard time keeping a straight face. He always waited until we got to our seats and then jumped up to get us a drink from the concession stand. I would time how long it took just for fun. I giggled as I imagined him handing her his watch as he ran up to get a bottle of water. “What did she do when you asked her to time you,” I joked.

Bob was suddenly serious, “She said she was getting paged and had to go home. Do you think she really got a page?”

I sat dumbfounded for a few minutes before answering, “I’m sure she did Bob.”

“What do you think I should do differently?” he quizzed.

“I can’t think of anything you could do better.” I replied lamely, “Maybe the right girl just hasn’t shown up yet.” I don’t know if he believed me or not but I bumped into him and his next date that weekend.

He was outside a convenience store holding two bikes when I walked up. “Hey man,” he greeted me cheerfully, “you gotta meet my date!” I winced but held fast as a woman emerged from the store with a couple bottles of water. “Diane, this is my running buddy,” he introduced me as she stuck one of the bottles in the cage on her bike.

“Nice to meet you,” she said. Realizing we were planning our next run she nudged Bob, “I’m going to make the block while you guys talk.” She hopped onto the bike and headed for the street before yelling back over her shoulder, “Hey Bob, Time me!”

I guess even triathletes have a shot at romance.