I'm not posting my September 11th story this year. You can read it here if you haven't read it before. I refuse to spend the 11th in mourning this year. It's been eight years. I'm taking the 11th back.
And what better way to take back the 11th than with some self-deprecation, am I right???
People? I won. I'm in at the Y. Woot!!!!! I'm not going to get into the specifics, but all I WILL say is that, as much as it pains me, sometimes it's not what you know, it's who you know. So enough about that. What you're here for is a story of me embarrassing myself in public, right? Of COURSE it is! That's just the dance we do around here. So, if you recall, I am not what one would call "coordinated" or "graceful" or "upright" most of the time. I fall down a lot. I have baby feet I'm too tall for, and no sense of coordination to speak of. So of course, when I first got to the gym, I immediately made a beeline for a big expensive electronic machine that I could easily kill myself on.
Me: Whoa, treadmills are complicated now.
Treadmill: I'm shiny! Look, I have a port for your iPod! And a beverage holder! And a quaint graphic of a runner on a track to show you how long you've run! I am SO EXPENSIVE OMG.
Me: I'm thinking no.
Treadmill: C'mon, you used to do the treadmill for an hour every morning back in the day!
Me: That was ten years ago. I'm old and tired now.
Treadmill: Get back on that horse! You want to fit into that ADORABLE dress you got from K-Bat, don't you? Sure you do! So hop on up and run like the wind!
Me: Heh. Right. Maybe I'll just race-walk for the time being and see where my stamina is.
*five minutes later*
Me: I'm dying.
Treadmill: You've barely started!
Me: I just remembered something. Ten years ago, not only was I 22 years old, but I didn't smoke.
Treadmill: And who's fault is that? Keep going!!!!
Me: I can't. My lungs are exploding. They're going to start oozing into my feet. I'm about to perish. Please, let me stop.
Treadmill: No pain no gain!
Me: Fuck this noise. *pushes STOP button*
Treadmill: I'm very disappointed in you.
Me: Listen, buster. I don't care how fancy you are, I will unplug your ass and then you'll be NOTHING BUT AN EYESORE. I hold your fate in my out of shape HANDS, dude. Don't test me!
Treadmill: I think you need some boxing lessons or something. Something that doesn't involve…ME.
Me: Excellent plan. But now I need to just rest for a second…*CLUNK*
Treadmill: Fell down getting off me, didn't you.
Me: Shut. Up.
Treadmill: Fell right down, huh?
Me: Shut up RIGHT NOW.
Treadmill: Go home. See you tomorrow, when we'll do this exact dance yet again. Freak.