The strong girl

This isn't her, of course.

For the past few weeks, the Complete and Total Loser has been going to a weight room in the college sports complex he swims in three mornings a week. He's just swum sixty laps, but he's always liked lifting weights and the machines there are easier on his fifty-seven-year-old joints than the dumbbells he has at home. He swims at six and is there by ten to seven. This is good, because few of the college students are there; it's mostly adults in their forties. Of the very few students there, one is a woman who looks like she can't be older than eighteen. She is fit, but slight—a good fifty pounds lighter than the Loser. On his first week there he saw her using a triceps pull down machine opposite the one he was using, and he was chagrined to see that she was lifting as many plates as he was, and doing it with ease. 
The aging body.
Later, though, he went around and saw that although the plates were the same size and number as those on the machine the Loser was using, the weights assigned to them were substantially less. 
This assuaged the Loser's fragile male ego. 
When college men come to lift, the Loser mentally makes an excuse to leave anon.