I trotted along at what I thought was a decent pace. I’m not built for speed but I could definitely keep up as I tried out the suggested treadmill. Having already “pumped iron” at the weight-lifting stations while the fitness salon manager promoted the benefits and features of their location I persisted despite the catty looks and smirking giggles of the rail-thin 20-somethings. I might be somewhat round and of “more mature” years but I can still bench press, much to the astonishment of those young twerkers.
“What I do for a shop” ran through my mind for the umpteenth time as I lumbered along while memorizing the manager’s exact quotes. Even more disconcerting was the spotter she’d assigned to stand behind me while I was on this miniature rolling sidewalk.
Perhaps she was psychic or somehow knew this was a Cettie-adventure in the making.
The manager indicated that this treadmill could be set on various speeds and inclines to simulate running uphill and reached out a hand seemingly without thinking to the control switch to demonstrate. She demonstrated all right.
Suddenly I was launched off the back of the treadmill like a Superman wannabee. Fortunately for me and perhaps unfortunately for the spotter I landed squarely upon her, pinning her to the floor. A look of disbelief on the manager’s face and mad scramble as spectators and staff ran to assist the luckless pair entangled in a pile before her.
After rendering aid and ensuring that no one was seriously hurt, the manager finally recalled why I was there and asked almost as an afterthought “Would you like a membership here?” I shook my head and replied “No, just a little too exciting for an old broad like me.”
As I shakily made my way out of the door the unmistakable words “It’s a bird! It’s a plane!!” went through my head. I don’t think Superman needed a stunt double but you never know.