Wednesday, 2 May 2012

Wednesday Words: Of Treadmills And Escalators


New Shoes


I have a slight problem with stairs. After I had a DVT in my leg well over three years ago I've not been a big fan of them. It took me well over a year to learn how to walk down them properly again without doing it the physio way ("Good leg goes to heaven, [lifting your good leg first when you go upstairs] bad leg goes to hell [using your bad leg first when going down the stairs]," - okay) which meant instead of one fluid movement of one leg after another, I'd take one step, let my other leg catch up and repeat. With the use of a stick. Man, it feels good knowing I don't have that stick any more. One day I'll tell you about what I went through but let me tell you now, it's messy and will take a long time to write about. But I have a feeling when I'm ready it's going to be a cathartic experience.

Despite which I have had two moments in my life in which I've realised that stairs really are my worst enemies. Especially the ones that MOVE.

I joined the gym a few years ago. It's okay, you can laugh. It didn't have much in it, a few dumbbells, a ton of spinning bikes, stationary bikes, cross trainer (yuck, that is all), and best of all treadmills. They were the most popular things in the gym, always being used. You often had to actually queue to use one. They even had timers of fifteen minutes only per session. This gym was tiny. And one day I actually got on the treadmill, my iPod blaring out loud music. I decided to do a walk on it for a few minutes. Just a slow, slow walk, holding onto the bars. I was a bit scared of this treadmill. After a few moments of feeling wobbly I decided to go faster, so I pressed the buttons to make it go faster. A minute later, I felt happier. I pressed the button to go faster again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Until I was running. Actually running without holding onto the bars. Oh my god! I was thinking to myself just how awesome this was, a fat girl like me running on a treadmill going nowhere but doing something. It felt amazing, amazing. I started to swing my arms out up and down like I was a professional runner. Hey, I thought to myself, I could even attempt the London Marathon one day.

Then my foot touched the side of the treadmill, the flat bit that doesn't actually move, and I found myself on the floor within seconds, in a "Will you marry me?" down on one knee pose, the treadmill hitting my knee, clonk, clonk, clonk, blood pouring out. I realised to then pull out my little clip to stop the treadmill. The woman on the treadmill next to mine looked down, and stopped the treadmill. "Are you okay?" she enquired. "Yes, yes," I reply, "I think I'm going to stick to normal walking from now on."

Which brings me onto a similar story a few months later. In Boots, we decided to go upstairs on the escalators to have a look. So, I went first, hit the first escalator I saw... and found myself running instead of going upwards. What on earth!? I thought to myself. I looked down and fell backwards, but not on the floor. I had only been trying to go up the escalator that was going down! To top it all off there was a CCTV camera watching the entire affair. I can imagine the security guard watching the footage and laughing.

Escalators and treadmills, I hate you.

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Wednesday Words is my new attempt at writing a little bit every Wednesday, documenting untold stories from my life and some of my own personal embarrassing moments.

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