Ran for a bit. Did that obnoxious stair climber for a bit.
…I hate the stair climber with a passion that rivals my love for peanut butter. And I love me some peanut butter. Hence why I have to use the stair climber.
Anyway, I suddenly get the bright idea to go and use the single rowing machine in the whole place. It’s tucked at the end of some treadmills directly below the TV that only shows Fox News.
I sit down and begin to strap my feet into the harnesses and assess my position.
Those foot harnesses, B-T-W, are from designs straight out of the movie Saw. I mean, getting my feet in them was hard. But to get them out I thought I was going to need a hacksaw. The heel bone’s connected to the ankle bone, but the ankle bone almost became dislodged from the leg bone as I tried to wriggle my leg outta that torture trap.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
I’m uncertain about how to row successfully. Is it with the legs? The arms? The back?
I’m sure I appeared as if I was trying to start a lawnmower sitting down as I did it. And that little seat didn’t seem to ever be in sync with the pulley system there. It was as if I was either too heavy for the seat and it kept getting stuck, or I just suck.
Probably the latter.
But whether or not I sucked at it, I could definitely feel that my body did not like this workout one bit. Legs begin to strain. I felt muscles on the sides of my ribs that haven’t been used in a long time (read: ever). And after running and stair climbing, I was sweating like a dog.
And that was only after 7 minutes.
Yes, I lasted 7 minutes of rowing before I began contemplating hopping off the machine. It truly is a terrible, terrible machine.
I eeked out my 10 minutes on it, and after unhinging my ankles from my legs, removed my carcass from the squatty rower of death. For a machine so low to the ground it certainly causes a lot of damage to your ego.
As I got up to grab the complimentary “wet nap of health” that will prevent other people from mixing my sweat with theirs, I noticed that someone was waiting in line behind the machine to use it when I was through. Yeah…someone watched me and then voluntarily took my place.
Truly, if I joined the rowing team, I’d sign up to be the coxswain.
And upon hearing that I was too tall and big to be the coxswain, I’d join the drinking team that supported the rowing team from the stands.
Once in the locker room I stopped just inside the door to fill up my water bottle. I had finished it off between the rowing machine and the door, and hoped to finish off another bottle between the door and the locker.
I was half way through filling when all of a sudden I heard a crash from the end of one of the locker rows.
I knew exactly what it was.
Some old dude (said with much respect to my older readers…dad) had dropped his cologne on the hard tile and it had shattered into a million pieces.
So, quick question for all of you out there. What happens when the economy size English Leather cologne breaks and fills the men’s locker room with its pungent fragrance?
You guessed it. Vomiting ensues.
No, seriously. It was the smelliest smell I’ve ever smelled.
Being the nice dude that I am I first, in no uncertain terms, demanded that old dude put on his flip flops before taking another step. Because if there’s one thing I wasn’t doing it was digging glass out of old-dude-in-his-boxer’s feet.
Then I began picking up the big shards. And as I did, I covered my little paws in English Leather. I mean, my hand stunk to high heaven. And sure enough I cut myself on one of those shards, which made me imagine that my blood now smelled like English Leather and I would sweat English Leather for days and I would be “that guy” even more than I already am “that guy” in so many other ways…
As I picked up the big shards, the old dude went and grabbed the stock of paper towels and began mopping up the aromatic liquid. As it plopped into the trash can I resolved myself to give it at least a full 48 hours before I returned. That whole place was going to stink for a while.
And that smell? I still smell it. It’s like it’s stuck in my nasal cavity and making a home up there. The hand that did the dirty work still has traces on it. It’s radioactive, I tell you. My nose’s Geiger counter still clicks whenever I rub my eyes.
So, we all learned some lessons today. First: rowing blows. If you can’t be a coxswain just stick to land sports.
Secondly: English Leather should not come in economy size bottles, should not be brought into locker rooms, and should be investigated for toxicity.
I mean, I get that old dudes have to have a smell that is just theirs. But can’t tobacco and peppermint do?