I knew this was going to happen. My lack of coordination was bound to catch up with me sometime.
I'm at the gym, lose my footing and slide back off the treadmill into another machine with a banging of my knees and whirring of the treadmill belt. The angry sound of the machine is annoying - it's not like it's sitting on the hard floor, disoriented in front of a bunch of strangers!
Although I'm dizzy, and I think I really hurt my knee, I pop up immediately. If I'm fast enough, maybe no one will notice that I was airborne for just a few seconds (at my current weight, an amazing feat within itself). I hope they will go back to their workouts, and allow a plump, slightly injured woman to lick her wounds in peace.
No such luck. Some very handsome man comes over and asks if I'm OK. He reaches over and stops the treadmill, which is still spinning and obviously hasn't noticed that I'm not on it anymore. He was so nice. I was mortified.
It's typical, though. The only time I talk to good-looking men at the gym is after a machine malfunction, or when I'm so hot and sweaty I can't get out anything but an "Ugh."
He looked down at my bloody knee and crumpled workout gear, and asked me again. He's so nice.
I wish he'd go away.
I smile weakly, and then babble for about 10 seconds. I can tell by the kind, but strange look on his face that what I said made NO sense.
He helps me hobble to a nearby bench, and I try to sink into the upholstery. He retrieves my water bottle, untangles my headset and hands the stuff to me. I smile, and thank him a million times, assuring him I'm all right.
He's not convinced, but accepts my assurances, and goes back to his workout.
As soon as his back is turned, I bolt (hurt knee be damned) to the locker room, grab my bag and keys and flee the gym.
I'm never coming back to this awful place of torture again.
Until tomorrow, but at a different time.
Do you have a gym horror story?Tell me about it.
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