Slapstick

Did I mention that I run? Yes, I am a running freak. Not so unusual, so are many other people. But I guarantee you haven't heard a story like this. First let me explain my running habits. I used to run outdoors. There is absolutely nothing like progressing rapidly over uneven terrain. Hmmm, seems like I heard that somewhere before. Anyway, I think I told you that I used to live in Colorado. Our house was west of Denver in a small mountain town called Evergreen which, interestingly enough, is the model for the "white-bread, redneck town" in South Park. That's right. I lived in Trey Parker's home town. Previous to that I lived in Matt Stone's hometown of Littleton, Colorado just 5 miles from Columbine High School. What was I writing about? Oh yeah, running outdoors. My domicile was perched high on a mountain at 8500 feet in altitude. My normal routine was to run three and one half miles down hill towards Evergreen to the more oxygen rich environment of 7000 feet of altitude and then turn around and run back up the mountain. Doing this three times a week for well over two years, landed me in the best shape ever. If you have never done it, take my word for it. Running up a 1500 foot change in elevation over a three and a one half mile distance is not as easy as it may sound. But I loved it. Actually, it was one of my favorite activities until one day. As per my normal, I was running along listening to my "running tape" on my head phones. My running tape consists of songs that motivate me which are mainly skull crushing, heavy hitting songs that no other sane person would even consider listening to. Given the type of music I like to run to, it goes without saying that the volume was pegged to the highest volume my Sony Walkman could deliver. As I ran in my extreme sonic isolation, I felt a pair of paws hit me square in the middle of my back. I believe that my next stride would have shamed Carl Lewis. Upon landing some thirty-two feet farther up the path, I spun in preparation to be torn limb from limb by one of the frequently seen neighborhood cougars. Much to my surprise, all I saw was the happiest, friendliest dog giggling at me. He was so happy to have elicited such a reaction from a dumb human. Pleased that I wasn't about to meet the fate of the two local llamas - another story - I go to thinking. Maybe it's not such a good idea to run outside in the wilderness wearing head phones, listening to obnoxious music at such extreme volumes. I tried running without music for awhile. But after ten attempts it seemed as if I was, well, running. Needing to find an alternative, I returned to the gym to run on the treadmill. One of the reasons I started running outdoors was I had grown weary of the constant scrutiny I received at the gym. I know, I know - everyone thinks that people at the gym are staring at them. But in my case, it happens to be true. Let me tell you why. I probably haven't told you this before, but I am not a small man. In fact, I carry more weight on my medium-sized, five-foot nine-inch frame than many players in the NFL. So, when I step on a treadmill next to the skinny-mini, salad eating, slow walking lamers and strap on my head phones, click play, set the timer at forty-five minutes and start running at nine miles an hour, people turn and look. I cannot count the number of times people have walked up to me and delivered the most irrating left-handed compliment of "you move really well ... for a big man. Within five minutes, I am drenched in sweat, lost in my head, singing along with my favorite songs. By the eight minute mark, I have successfully cleared the treadmill to my immediate left and right. By the ten minute mark, I am usually the lone runner on the forty-two treadmills in the gym. What the heck, I am there to run. Finally, it's time to tell the story - here goes. Being that I've been known to travel around, I frequently find myself in different gyms. There I was, working in Slough, UK on a project for a large wireless provider. One of the benefits of working for this particular company was a discounted membership at the Thames Valley University Gymnasium. Needing to get my running fix, I decided to partake of the fringe benefit. Upon walking in, I see the familiar line of treadmills. But since it was England, there wasn't forty-two, brand new shiny machine. In fact, these treadmills were green. No not the color, they weren't electric. Sounds weird, but it is cool if you think about it. I mean, does it really make sense to burn electrical energy to exercise? Anyway, the way to operate these dastardly little machines is to set the incline and try to stay on it. The steeper the incline, the faster you have to run in order to stay on the belt. Deciding it would be much better to brave these unfamiliar devices than to run outside it the misty, penetrating rain which plagues the tiny little island, I mounted the beast and began indulging my physiologic vice. Timidly, I stepped onto the machine, took a deep breath and cranked up the incline. It took a little getting use to. Either I was going painfully slow or I was awkwardly lunging forward to drop the incline to prevent myself a truly embarrassing moment. Finally, I found the proper balance and soon I was running at the proper speed. One of the reasons I enjoy running is that it really gives me the opportunity to get inside my head and do some real thinking. At the time, I was trying to help one of my developers solve a pesky programming problem that he had been knocking his head against for the last four days. Once I got past the initial lung burn and had my rhythm, my thoughts turned to the tricky piece of code. As I pondered the attempts my programmer had made, it hit me. The reason we were unable to solve the issue despite all our efforts is it was not a programming problem, it was a design issue. The realization hit me like a blow to the gut. Why, you ask? Mainly, because I was the jerk that designed the program. In that instant, I lost focus and my left foot stepped off the spinning belt and on to the guide on the side of the treadmill. However, my right foot remained on the belt. In a split second, I felt my face bounce off the monitor unit on the front of the treadmill. Before the yell exited my mouth, I fell straight back on to my bottom and shot off the back of the infernal machine. Needless to say, all activity in the gym ceased. Several concerned Brits ran to my aid, but quickly reversed their course when they saw my sweat soaked t-shirt. Not really, but it’s much funnier to say it happened that way. That’s all in the past. Even though I went through a period of harboring an illogical phobia of exercise equipment, I have recently conquered my fear and returned to the gym. If you happen to be in the one and only health club in my new “white-bread, redneck” town, you might actually get the pleasure of seeing a large, sweaty, loud music listening, singing fool running his heart out. Give me shout! More stories from Paul Gavin. Info on novels Paul Gavin's Storefront. Technorati Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Chapter, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin IceRocket Tags: Fiction, Blook, Chapter, rebeleyeball