Tonight I am going to walk into my gym in my work clothes, and no gym bag to speak of. After they scan my bar code, without speaking or acknowledging staff in any way, I will walk directly to the first free treadmill. I will wait if I have to; I often do.
I will step on the treadmill, in my leather-soled loafers. I will stare at its console, and finally choose my workout program. Then I will loosen my tie, grip the metal heart rate handles, and walk out the first 45 seconds or so.
As the treadmill accelerates to a decent clip — 6.3mph — I will begin to run in my full business casual attire, my tie flapping and twisting until its underside is flat against my chest at a funny angle. But I won’t run like an athlete. I am going to pretend I’m running for my life, like someone is chasing me with a kitchen knife. I will scream, “Oh my God! Oh my God he’s coming!!!” And occasionally look back over my shoulder, my mouth forming a great, drooling rictus of fear.
“Oh please no please no God no please!!” I’ll plead, my GAP undershirt and J. Crew broadcloath oxford soaked through, front and back. My tractionless shoes will slip and stutter on the treadmill, their laces jumping around in a punk rock fit. I will stretch my arms out, forward, and cry, “I’m coming oh God please be home please no God I’m coming!!!” I will claw at my face, and scream like an animal. “WAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHLLLLLURRRRRRRGGGGGG!!!!!” is what I’ll probably say. My skin will be on fire right now, and the gym’s roaming trainers will be huddled around my treadmill, asking me if I’m OK while they try to figure out how to remove me from the treadmill without killing me or injuring themselves. I will address, only them to say, “LOOK OUT ARE YOU CRAZY??? HE ONLY COMES OUT TO FEED ONCE EVERY 15 YEARS!!! YOUR MUSCLES CAN’T STOP HIM!!!”
At the twenty-five minute mark, I will begin my cooldown period. I will regain my composure, occasionally checking pulse points at my neck and wrist. I will be bathed in sweat. Even my skull will be sweating, and perspiration will wick off the KMS molding paste in my hair. When my workout ends, at the thirty minute mark, I will calmly step off the treadmill. I will have the entire gym’s attention. I will bend over, catch my breath, then finally stand up straight and announce to the gym members and staff, “That’s the last time I choose the JEEPERS CREEPERS CARDIO program.”
