Elliptical Epileptic Fits and Other Blissful Pleasantries


Two days in a row, motherfuckers!  That’s what I’d say if anyone cared that I went to the gym today.  But  no one does, so that’s that.  You’re still going to read about my trip to the gym, just because I feel like writing about it.  Maybe you’ll laugh as a result.

As I walked in, I noticed that it was darker than usual.  Uh oh, could it be that the dark cloud had followed me and stationed itself inside the gym, casting a pall over what should have been a nice, productive workout?  Could be.  But not really.  They were having power issues.  Some lights were out completely, some flickered.  It added ambience.  I kinda liked it, as it would make staring at me more challenging for anyone who feels so inclined.

** I did inform one of the personal trainers about Bandanna Guy from yesterday.  After my workout, I was getting a smoothie and I asked if she’s been reading this blog.  She hasn’t, which is total bullshit, since I often write about the gym.  Don’t worry, gentle reader, I wasn’t hitting on her.  I was just talking.  Anyone who witnessed this exchange would attest to the same…  More on that later.  I’m trying to remain chronologically-sound here.

Sweat poured into my gray tee-shirt as I intensified my treadmill activity.  Figured, no weights again today; I’m just getting back after a few days away, so I need to ease in…  I kept removing my glasses to wipe the salty sweat from my cheeks and brow.  My 20-ounce bottle of water stood little chance of surviving the 65 minutes.  I flipped through the channels until I found a suitable Olympic event with which to distract myself from burningleg.  Soccer match between Brazil and Belarus.  Deal.

As I did my thing, so too did electricity.  Or lack thereof, I should say.  The overhead lights flickered on then off, on then off.  This went on for the duration of my visit.  At one point, the flicker became so rapid I thought I was at a rave.  I think the girl on the elliptical in front of me took a seizure.  Some really short dude wearing a Cat-in-the-Hat hat windmilled past me streaking green and pink glowsticks through the air.  I’m pretty sure he was spelling out “Shoot me now.”  I had to turn the television off to avoid getting nauseous.

Once I finished my workout, I approached the counter to get my tough-guy berry smoothie—Pome”granite” Bliss.  While there, I taunted Meg the trainer for not reading this blog; I got her email address so’s I can make sure she knows how to find said blog.  I told Meg of Bandanna Guy from yesterday, how I thought he was going to kick my ass for badmouthing .38 Special.  She pointed out a large, sweaty guy who undoubtedly stunk.  He wore a bandanna and she joked, “Was it that guy?”  It wasn’t the same man, though equally creepy nonetheless.  When I told her that I’m used to people looking at my arm, it was funny—she kinda did a double-take, as though she’d not noticed before.  Which was actually kinda pleasant.

Bandanna Guy, it would appear, simply has a chip on his shoulder and a speaker to his ear which perpetually pumps Rock 105 from Jacksonville, Florida into his ear.  After speaking to Meg, then getting my smoothie, I also had a pleasant conversation with a bright, polite dude who just happens to be married to a friend of mine…

In all, it was a fine trip to the gym.  I think, at this point, any time I can manage to break a sweat, then escape without serious injury and avoid catching an epileptic fit AND ALSO get to promote my blog, I call that a job well-done.  Best of luck to you all.  Fear not, gentle reader—the world is as it should be.  The future holds no guarantee but for the promise of another crack at living a good life.  I encourage you all to take the chance when it comes and regret nothing in the process.

OK, I went all Dr fucking Phil there.  Fuck it.  You know what I’m saying.  I’m gonna go buy a bunch of bandannas and practice mean-mugging motherfuckers.  Then, if anyone says anything, I’m gonna SaturdayNightSpecial the shit out of them until they DevilWentDownToGeorgia in their DixieChicken.  Whatever the fuck that means.

Enjoy your day, my friends.  My love to all.  Even Bandanna Guy, wherever he may be, whoever he maybe harassing…

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