The final piece of advice I offer concerning the treadmill - besides the exploding shorts, the joggers nipple and the chub rub - has a post all of its own, and comes under the title of 'speed, and pretty girls.....' which, although a possible alternative title for a George Best biography, is also a trap waiting to catch out any male who wants to show off. Take heed!!
Let's be honest here, running without moving anywhere is an unnatural phenomenon; and it takes some time to get used to said phenomenon to avoid it becoming a phenomenfalloff. Even once the initial adjustment is complete, I am wary that things you can get away with during a normal moving-forward type of run, ought not to be risked. At 5km/hour and above (brisk-ish walking pace) all I can do is run; if anything as adventurous as taking a drink is attempted, I risk all manner of calamity, the end result of which will generally be flying off the end of the thing. This cautionary note forms one integral part of the ensuing story..........
The second vital part concerns the big.....dumb.....male......pride. As we are running away on our FFG's, we just can't help taking a sneaky peak at what our jogging neighbours are doing (note I am saying 'we' here, in the hope that I am actually not the only person in the entire world who does this!). The reaction to this is either swelling with pride at the fact that they aren't running for as long, are not running as fast, and are not even running on an incline; or feeling so inadequate when they are running, longer, faster, steeper and haven't even broken into a sweat yet! The temptation is to up your own pace, particularly when the neighbour is a pretty lady. Yes YES, I know; no matter how old I am, or how mature I get, the line 'you were beaten by a giiiiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrl' still hurts!!
Just such a lady started running beside 'G' (you remember, the exploding shorts guy?), and I am reliably informed that she was particularly gorgeous (For some reason, whenever I relate this story, I have the lady in question looking exactly like Nicole Lindsay; a similarly gorgeous woman at university who made popmobility (don't ask) particularly enjoyable. I use her image as, like in this story, I was quite willing to act like a complete cock - no change there - in order to impress her). He tried so hard not to be influenced by her presence, but she was just too pretty to ignore. He kept a close eye on her speed to make sure he kept a few decimal points ahead, and other than that just kept a close eye on her (I am making him sound like a real letch aren't I? He really isn't, but for storytelling porpoises.....).
As I recall, she was what is classed as a 'graceful runner'; a person who is able to keep her poise and balance and make it look more like a float than a run. She took a drink from her water bottle with not so much as a blip in her stride pattern; and almost hypnotised by her elegance, 'G' did the same....just about. She upped the speed still further, 'G' did the same. Then, having sufficiently warmed up - and with no reduction in speed - she effortlessly removed her sweatshirt (in that, cross-hands-at-your-waist-and-pull-over-your-head technique) and deposited it at the side of the machine in one fluid movement....................'G'.....tried to do the same........
...................and failed..........
She made it look so easy. It started so well, but two things weren't accounted for. The first was that the sweatshirt neck was tighter than expected. Resulting in a slight obstruction on it's journey up and off his head, as it got snagged on his nose! Of course, usually this is not a problem; just give it a quick twitch and off it comes, but travelling along a treadmill at 11 kilometres per hour is distinctly UNusual. So there is 'G'; arms up, with the only visible part of his face being his mouth; trying to keep running at 11 kilometres per hour, without seeing where the hell he is going. Got the mental picture??
If he could just have kept up his pace, the mini disaster would have stayed mini - with only his pride slightly damaged - but (unaccounted for thing number two) in his distraction to remove the top, he kind of......well.......just........stopped running.......!
Now, you really don't have to be an expert in ballistics to work out what happened next. However, I can confirm that a non-running 'G' was shot out the back of the treadmill - funnily enough, at exactly 11 kilometres per hour - and bounced off the gym wall a few feet behind......still with his sweatshirt lodged round his nose!
I know not of the repercussions from this particular event, I also don't know whether this took place in the same gym as the exploding shorts episode; but let it be a lesson to us all, particularly all us big dumb males!!
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