I joined the gym this week because I’m determined to bring sexy back to suburbia. I’m strong and sturdy stock but I wouldn’t say I’m a natural athlete. The thought of running endless kilometres or cycling until my arse is numb doesn’t appeal, so to keep my interest piqued I’m more of a group fitness chick.
I’ve sampled a variety of classes this week and I just suffered my first injury.
I was rocking it like a white chick in Zumba. I was salsaing, sashaying, and gyrating my way to hotness when I realised my glow had progressed into a full blown sweat which needed a wipe, in case the drip fell off my nose and landed in front of me. When your pelvic floor is as shithouse as mine, any drops on the floor can cause a minor heart attack. My towel was off to the side so I just grabbed the bottom of my oversized singlet (the de rigeur apparel for almost middle-aged hip-hoppers) and swiped it across my sweaty face.
Unbeknownst to me, a piece of sushi rice from lunch had hardened into to a razor that slashed my nostril, causing me to make a girly squeal. Thankfully it was in time with the Carib beats and the instructor mistook it for enthusiasm. The ensuing frantic wiping of my stinging nose was also not unlike my trip to the Caribbean but that’s another story.
It’s not the first time I’ve injured myself in the gym.
I’ve attended numerous gyms over the past 15 years so it stands to reason that someone as klutzy as I would have sustained a few injuries. For the most part they’re lame ass injuries. Kicked a dumbbell, shin gauge in the spin room, armpit chaffing and such.
I dare say the most fantastic of all, and one of my all time most embarrassing moments, was at Fitness First in Bondi Junction. I was on a treadmill in a cardio room filled with gorgeous young ladies who never broke a sweat. They wore matching LuluLemon ensembles in pastel shades that highlighted their perfect tans, and their carefully applied make up screamed ‘I spent hours to look this natural’.
I’m one of those beetroot faced exercisers. You know the ones. The second they start warming up their head goes puce and you wonder if they’ll need a paramedic before the class is out.
Anyway, I was in all my purple glory after a half hour run on the treadmill when my left foot ventured off the belt and onto the stationary side part. This caused the foot on the treadmill to flick out behind me like a ballistic ballerina on meth. Accompanying said acrobatics was a big, high, girly squeal, just loud enough to draw the attention of everyone within a five mile radius. Fearing the worst I tried to steady myself, but I over compensated in my panic and my other foot to hit the other stationary side.
I could smell my fate (or was it my feet?) and I could not stop it. Before you could say Geronimo, you unco wench, I was on my knees on the treadmill, and being unceremoniously spat off the back.
I cracked up. How hilarious! Imagine that??? If I saw someone do that I would quite possibly pee my pants laughing but the room was silent. I looked around and everyone pretended they couldn’t see me. So much more humiliating than pointing and laughing.
What was wrong with these people??? They couldn’t have not noticed the almost six-foot beet-headed woman, arms and legs flailing across the cardio room.
The attractive girl I landed on was simply forced to acknowledge me as I was in a heap at the foot of her machine.
‘You ok?’ she asked disinterestedly, never losing a stride on her Cross Trainer.
‘Yeah, are you? Wasn’t that the funniest thing you’ve ever seen???’ I asked
Get this…. she rolled her eyes. Stride, swish, stride, swish, so forth and so on….
I jumped back on the metaphorical horse, trying to save the tiny amount of face I may possibly still have had, but my wrist was smarting, and my knees were stinging and my pride was somewhere under a piece of equipment. That would have been bearable, but every ten seconds or so I would imagine myself on my knees flying across the room and crack up again.
In summary, the gym is a place of torture. Sure, the benefits are many and varied, but take note that danger is around every corner, and humiliation is just a treadmill mishap away.