Funny Anecdotes From the Gym
Pick the Right Personal Trainer
Due to on and off attendance through the years, my gym membership has failed to result in the development of rock-hard abs or a chiseled physique; however, occasional comedic events have helped to make the overall experience worthwhile. Gyms are all about honing the body, the public assassination of excuses for not exercising. Whether it’s the whooshing exhales of iron pumping heavyweights or the pitter-patter of a flyweight on the treadmill, asserting control of the body’s every movement during repetitions of physical stress is the objective.
Recently, Mark, an iron-man type and personal trainer, began a session with an eager female client by pitching her a weighted exercise ball. His intent was to conduct a safe but rigorous game of catch but the set ended abruptly when the weighted ball struck her chest, knocking the wind out of her as she fell on her derriere. The fitness student apparently struck her funny bone too because when she was able to breathe again she began laughing uncontrollably. Meanwhile, the trainer, while apologizing profusely, helped her to her feet. Laughter must be the way this lady deals with embarrassment because when she realized she had peed in her pink yoga pants she laughed even harder as she made her way to the restroom.
One of My Awkward Moments
Being the type who doesn’t like to attract attention, one of my less than graceful episodes at the gym comes to mind. This gym was new to me and I wanted to fit in even though my silver hair always presents a challenge. The chain reaction began a couple of miles into a treadmill session when my shoe loosened and its untied shoelace began whipping my ankle. I kept my cool and gingerly stepped onto the machine's running boards one foot at a time, intending to re-tie the lace and resume my brisk walk. Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough slack in my headset cord and my attached phone flew off the treadmill’s dashboard like a tiny rocket. Miraculously, and to my credit, I caught the phone midair, but to no avail because I bumped my head on the treadmill’s armrest while attempting to straighten up which caused me to drop the phone again. Now I have a new phone. In the confusion, I unwittingly stepped (with my untied shoe) on the still-churning treadmill which tripped me and peeled off my shoe. As though mocking my comedic circumstance, the conveying treadmill jettisoned me, my shoe and the phone on the concrete floor. The gym was crowded that day, or so it seemed.
Gym Equipment Malfunctions are Annoying, and Sometimes Down-right Amusing.
I wondered why John, a new-comer, looked so pale. He appeared to have just received some very unsettling news, like a bad medical report. Like me, John looks old enough to remember exactly where he was when President Kennedy was assassinated, so I asked him if he was feeling alright. He just shook his head, swiped at the sweat beads over his brows, and motioned toward the treadmill he had been using.
“My heart rate is through the roof - I think I’m having a heart attack,” he whispered hoarsely.
I briefly side-eyed the emergency, cardiac resuscitation device mounted on a nearby wall before asking if he was having chest pains or trouble breathing. He wasn’t. Then I asked why he thought he might be in cardiac arrest.
“Two hundred and thirty! I checked my heart rate on the treadmill and it’s pounding 230 beats a minute,” he spouted in genuine emotional anguish.
“Wait, I was on that machine yesterday and it estimated my heart rate at 630,” I said. “I think the machine is in cardiac arrest, not you.”
Joe looked relieved but insisted I mount the machine and double-check his errant analysis. After two minutes at a fast pace and steep incline, the treadmill estimated my heart rate to be 346 beats per minute.
“Do you feel better, John?” I asked.
He nodded but said he was going to call it quits for the day. I've never seen John at the gym again.