At the Gym

So I’m at the gym, doing my regular gym thing (gymitty-gym, gymitty-gym). Moving to the treadmill, I zoned out watching a baseball game. About 15 minutes later, a woman straight out of the Jane Fonda ’80s walked to a machine, wearing new shoes, tight peach-colored shorts, a blousy multi-colored shirt of sorts, and an actual matching headband. I expected her to sport a single long feather earring as well, so 1983 was she.

Eventually I turned my attention back to the game and my own cardio. But a few minutes later, all attention was drawn back to Sheena Easton, who was obviously unfamiliar with the machine, probably with treadmills in general. She had amped it up past walking speed, and was attempting to keep up with a sort of ungainly trot. Confused, she kept her thumb pressed on the “Increase Speed” button, and her trot turned into a desperate, flat-footed run. “Wam-wam-wam-wam-wam-wam-wam!” went her new tennies on the treadmill, until finally she volunteered a short of embarrassed “help”. No one responded, so she shouted “HELP!!”. A number of us began to move towards her, calling instructions as we approached. “Hit the BIG RED STOP BUTTON!!” I shouted, and someone else said “Just step off to the side!”. Not knowing what the heck either of us were talking about, though, she stumbled, and then she went DOWN.

I mean, her feet flew up behind her, she stared briefly at the ground from a horizontal position, and then hit the treadmill nearly face-first. Since the thing was running at full speed, it immediately threw her back and off, her feet hitting the padded wall behind her. Friends, she hit that wall so hard that it actually knocked her pants down. All the way down.

She ended up being fine, a little bruised and hugely embarrassed. The medics came, an assistant helped her with her shorts, the crowd dispersed. Since I knew she was fine after all, I have to confess I laughed long and hard all the way home. Let’s be careful out there.

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