So here I am, on a blasted aerobic machine at Frogs. I don’t know why I hate exercising. Maybe it’s just the gym that annoys me. Too many sweaty, muscular people looking at me. It’s vaguely resembles junior high, except without the creepy toned bodies.
This gym is strange, because there are paintings on the walls for sale. I wonder why people try to sell them here of all places. Besides, the paintings are garage sale quality. Definitely not good enough for this high-class gym wall, mind you.
I’d have to say that the worst part about this gym is running into people from my past (particularly junior high, although most other grades were just as painful). I thought that I had rid myself of them. I was looking forward to coming back 15 years from now and having them ooh and awe over my great success. They all seemed to have improved much more than I have. Damn! Well there goes my plan. They must visit this place much more frequently than I.
The worst experience I’ve had here was seeing this guy I had liked in junior high. He was on a treadmill flirting with some girl and watching her butt at the same time. He’s icky. What kind of taste in guys did I have? So then, of course, I had to examine my taste now. It’s not too good.
They’ve installed these TVs on each machine, but you have to have headphones to hear the audio. For some reason or another, I can’t have any unless I pay an extra $20 a month. Whatever. I’m not that addicted to tv. The stations look boring anyhow. No they don’t. I’m just trying to make myself feel better. On the bright side, I have gotten a chance to read because of my predicament.
I thought writing would be a more efficient way to pass the time, but all it’s done is wrench my hand out of socket because I’m trying to write on a board placed at a 75 degree angle.
12 minutes and 57 seconds have passed. I told the machine I would use it for 60 minutes. I don’t want to let it down.
I have just looked at my lead supply and the prognosis is negative. I have only one piece left, and it’s that size that the pencil wants to reject and replace with a properly sized one. Like a fool I’ve been throwing away little pieces of lead all day, not knowing that I might be stuck on an exercise machine with nothing to do except watch the seconds roll by.
I’ve just realized that they play some pretty slow music for a place that is supposedly so active. This beat isn’t inspiring me to exercise at all. They need to play some dance music. I know that’s blasphemy, but I promise I won’t like it. I just need a beat, not some new, cheesy, Christina Aguilera or Backstreet Boys song.
Janeane Garafalo once said that the slowest increment of time was the time on a Stairmaster (or something to that extent). Truer words were never spoken.
I’m not even halfway done and minimal lead left! My lack of supplies is almost Donner-Party-esque. I think I should start chewing on my hand.
The only thing that keeps me here is the fact that I ate a candy bar at lunch. In essence it’s like I’m doing time at the gym for my crime of chocolate. The sad thing is that the chocolate wasn’t even worth it. It was a brittle 3 musketeers bar from the school vending machine. If I could turn back time, would I still eat it? Yeah, probably. I try not to question myself. My mind is not a safe place to be.
It says I’ve burned 188 calories. I think I’ll stop when I run out of lead.
AHHHHHHHH! The machine just flashed the words “ENJOYING YOU WORKOUT?”. No not really.
How many calories are there in a damn candy bar, anyway?
(Author note: My lead supply ran out and alas I didn’t fulfil the 60 minutes I had originally told the machine. I did burn 250 calories though.)
