Monday, March 18, 2013
Back when I cared what I actually looked like (read: before I got married and gave up), I went to the gym 4 or 5 times a week for about 2 hours at a time.
Obviously, this was also before I had anything better to do and Internet porn had not yet been invented to fill up the remaining voids.
The gym I went to was on the corner of a great big strip mall and now I'm thinking having a strip mall made of nothing but strip joints is the best. idea. ever. and AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS EVER THOUGHT OF THIS?!
Sorry. "Strip" is one of my trigger words.
To get into the gym from the parking lot required you to either (a) use steps on the end of the sidewalk or (b) take the shortcut route of stepping up the 12-inch high curb just in front of the door.
I'm lazy. I always did the curb thing. Walking around to the steps seemed like a lot of work at the time and even though I'd spend 2 hours in the gym, I'm the kind of person who doesn't even like walking to his car.
If you've ever done this, you know that the end result of a heavy leg day is that your lower limbs become the consistency of jelly but with far much less stability and slightly more hair.
Unfortunately, my car was also a stick-shift so after some such "leg days" sitting at a light while trying to depress the clutch resulted in me looking like I was attempting an Elvis impression from the driver's seat.
I stood on the curb for a moment, deciding whether or not I should take the stairs or risk stepping down the curb.
As I looked up, a car approached and stopped to let me go across. My decision was made for me. Off the curb it was.
I waved 'thanks' to the driver and stepped off the curb into the parking lot just in front of him.
My foot hit the pavement.
I could feel my jelly landing leg rippling as my leg completely buckled out from under me and my tiny but muscly little body fell forward, gym bag flying through the air, arms flailing, face contorted in a "WHOA" grimace as I crumpled to the pavement...landing right in front of the car that was letting me go.
I looked up from the pavement. My face beet red from embarrassment.
The driver of the car was just kind of staring at me with his mouth slightly agape, like, 'Um...okay.'
Ah. Thanks for your concern, fellow citizen.
Brushing myself off, I staggered across to my car like a man with polio and no braces. Luckily, my gym back flung forward about 20-feet during this display, landing right next to my car, so I was able to just hop in and reach down through my open door and grab it. No fucking way was I bending down to get it.
I closed the door and started my car.