Lookout Mountain, Chattanooga

Monday, March 28, 2011

Avoid the Treadmill

This story is very embarrassing and probably shouldn’t be written. 

Now is that a good story prompt, or not?  (See lots of them by clicking on the links to the right.)

But this is a true story that might save you from yourself some day, although I’m thinking no one else would ever dream of doing something so truly humiliating.

Anyway, I fell.  I fell on the treadmill.  I fell on the treadmill as I was speeding along at 4 miles per hour.  I fell on the treadmill while removing a pullover as I was speeding along at 4 miles per hour.  Actually, I didn’t really fall—well, not then.  The run-amok treadmill hurtled me backwards at warped speed at which time I slid down a wall.  Bouncing up hurriedly, I threw the stupid jacket off and pulled down my embarrassingly high shirt.  Suddenly, I was grateful for America’s lust for fast foods and little exercise; few people were there to witness the event.  One concerned man did ask me if I were hurt.  No, I assured him.  I’m fine, I said.  I think he was about to buy it when, lo and behold! I forgot the treadmill was moving and stepped back on.  That’s when I fell.  I fell down to my knees and slid right off onto the floor.  Surely, he thought I’d taken leave of my senses.  As I limped to the restroom to take stock, I assured him that only my ego was bruised.  Once there, I found slightly skinned knees but no bones protruding.  A kind lady with a first aid kit took me under wing.  She brought the kit with her after dropping a 15 lb weight on her foot.  Ouch.  Bless her heart, but maybe I don’t corner the market on stupidity after all.

The moral of my story is stay off the treadmill. 

And the hint:  So you have a lemon?  Make lemonade.  A minor setback in the scheme of things, my what-could-have-been avoidable, red-faced injury turned into material for my blog. 

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