For example:
Last night I dug the old Foam Roll (capitalized because it is indeed the trademarked name...) in order to try to work some knots out of my shoulders. I'm going to insert a picture of this particularly benign looking piece of equipment so you can see what I'm talking about. 
The trick to undo shoulder knots is to lay down with the Foam Roll beneath your upper back. You then lift your hips off the ground and gently roll back and forth on the FR, usually experiencing some nice release in tense muscles. Only last night I was wearing a hooded sweatshirt. And when I rolled one way I rolled that damn hood right up under the FR, neatly cutting off my supply of oxygen to my brain. Now, you may be thinking, why didn't you just roll back? Well, I could have thought that thought too if I hadn't been working with an oxygen deprived brain. Luckily I had enough wits about me to reach up and unzip my sweatshirt, thus saving myself from certain disaster. I am lucky I was not wearing a pullover. Jon chuckled away when I related my experience and said, "Kind of reminds me of a treadmill story..."
Of course, he wasn't talking about a run-in he had with a treadmill. He was talking about me. I know that I have told this story often, but I don't believe it has been committed to paper for posterity. Ok. It's January, quite a few years back, and I am a new user of the Midway Y's cardio room. A few weeks earlier a friend had talked me through the directions for all of the machines, and so here I was going for a nice slow run on this dread mill. Now, I far prefer to get my exercise outside and love to cross country ski. But this day must not have been skiable, so inside I was. I had my new MP3 player strapped to my arm and was trying to forward through a few of the 13 songs that particular model held, but I was not getting to the song I needed to hear. After a few more moments of struggling I realized that the thing was strapped on upside down. So I took my eyes off the prize and started messing around with my armband, while continuing to run.... Somehow I tripped up and went flying off the back of the treadmill. Landing in a heap behind it. Because I am always cool and nonchalant, I took that moment there huddled on the ground in a heap to make the necessary adjustment to my MP3 thing. Like I had planned on that dismount all along. Then I took a sneaky look around. Now the little cardio room was PACKED because it was shortly after the new year and people had not yet given up on their resolutions. And I had been in the front row of machines. But no one behind me was even snickering. They were all staring forward, continuing with their workouts as if this happened everyday. So I got up, brushed myself off, and stepped back on. To the back end of the moving treadmill. I think I got two steps in before I was thrown off again. Landed in the same heap. Looked around slyly. No one was even looking the slightest bit amused. I could not believe it. This time I got up and mounted on the side, firmly grabbed both side rails, then air-ran above the treadmill for a few seconds before cautiously lowering down into contact. And this time I made it until the clock ticked down. Upon completion I looked down at the treadmill below my feet and saw a streak of blood was painted right down the middle of the tread, destined to circle away for years- a constant reminder to anyone who followed me to keep their eyes forward and concentrate on what they are doing.
I had two nice stripes of 'rug burn' from knee to ankle, one on each leg. Let me tell you that it was lucky I was home alone when I took a shower! I howled. Dang. I can't believe how many times I have told my kids that a skinned knee will only hurt for a second. I was crippled for at least a week. I have returned to the dreadmill since, still don't like it, but have managed to stay upright until my ride comes to a complete stop.
This is probably the place where I should mention the weight room and a friend and a medicine ball and me and a wall. A mirrored wall at that. But I won't. Suffice it to say that for that episode all the fellow lifters pretended not to notice, but because I was blocking their view of themselves in the mirror, I did see a few smirky grins at the corner of mouths. But no eye contact. I like this about the old Midway Y. The people there try their hardest to help you keep your self respect. It takes some effort on their part and I do keep testing them, but they seem up for the challenge.
As I think about these problems I have, I have to note that I seem to have inherited these tendancies directly from my parents. My dad has had a number of classy bike wipeouts, but Jean is the one who has had the more spectacular incidents. I will quickly relate two that I remember:
Once while biking with a bunch of pals she somehow got her pedals connected with someone else- they were able to separate but Jean careened right off of the bike path and into a bog. She sunk quite a ways. For the record, my dad, although he did indeed grow up as a Midway Y member, could not keep a straight face. He chuckled away. I think he chuckled for the rest of that bike ride.
The second incident involves a water park. And me as a angsty teen. We went down one of those longish innertube rides and when the family plunked into the wading pool at the bottom, one after the other, us kids were HORRIFIED to note that the ride had somehow completely ripped open the back of my mom's swim suit. I don't know if we told her, or if she felt the surprising breeze on her back side. And the thing was, her towel was back at the top of the slide. Mine was more wisely stashed at the bottom. But I did not lend it to her. I needed it to put it over my head to hide my shame! If memory serves me correctly we made that poor woman sashay awkwardly back to the top in order to reclaim her towel so that she could cover up. Mom, I'm sorry. I do hope Eli and Theo have a little more compassion, because it appears as if they will need it.
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