Bringing Sexy Back to the Gym
I fell off the treadmill yesterday. Actually, falling off would have been preferable. I sort of kept desperately gripping the hand rail, as if I were riding a mechanical bull after three shots of tequila and wanted to hang on as long as possible. I felt my feet begin to slip away from me, but I thought to myself, Surely I’m not going to fall. So I grasped the rail. As my feet tangled and my legs knotted themselves together, I hung on. My knees hit the… tread part… and I bobbled along for a moment, with my legs scrambling to regain their footing. Somehow I ended up on my back for a good fifteen seconds before rolling off the treadmill onto the safety of still ground. Sadly this didn’t happen in the blink of an eye; I managed to prolong the inevitable for a good thirty seconds. The gentleman next to me hopped off the elliptical to check on me. That’s right, folks, I managed to perform this debacle in front of a complete stranger. I tried to play off the embarrassment (“I got bored running, so I thought I’d practice gymnastics!”), but sadly the blood dripping down my leg belied the seriousness of the incident. The poor man brought me some tissue and after thanking him profusely I hobbled out of the fitness center.