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.