At the gym this morning, the trainer had me do tricep curls. That’s where you hold a bar connected to a cable connected to weight with both hands, keeping your forearms straight out from your waist and your elbows steady at your side and pull down to your thighs. I did it and heard…
The bar hit the device. Lined up perfectly. Fuck. Rep number two. Be careful.
Goddamn it! Number three.
That’s better. After that, I figured out how to change my stance so my leg took the hit and not the tube. No idea if the trainer heard the noise or thought anything of it.
Later in the session, he had me doing a Superman. That’s where you lay on your stomach and pull your legs, arms and chest off the ground, holding them up and out. Like Superman flying. Anyway, new mats today. These are like thin memory foam. After the exercise, I stood up and saw a perfect impression of the Steelheart’s lock and tube pressed into the mat. Like a fucking picture. I stood on it for a few seconds, feigning a rest, until I figured my footprint had crushed the bas relief out of the foam.
It’s almost a given that, sooner or later, this dude’s going to bust me.