To the Nasty Ass Dude on the Treadmill Last Night:

Posted: February 8, 2013 in Gym, In Transition
Tags: , ,

So here’s the scene:  after a grueling 60 minute Sweat Factory of a spin class (something I have now christened as ‘Hillstock 2013’) a training peer of mine left to run a 20 minute Brick on the treadmill.  It was a convenient opportunity to catch up and talk about all things triathlon while burning off a few added calories, what have you.  Then it hits us:  this overwhelming cloud of toxic nastiness.

Now, I’m all for ‘feeling the burn’, per se, but when that burns begins to extend itself to my eye-sockets I get a bit, well, agitated (unless it my own doing, of course, then it’s okay).  Anyway, walking on the treadmill beside us is a middle aged moolyak in a sweaty grey Steelers t-shirt who, apparently, feels that it is perfectly acceptable to carpet bomb the entire gym with sulfuric farts mid-workout.  Totally nasty!

When the full force of this idiot’s aerosolized stool hit us, it was like being kicked in the teeth.  My eyes began to water and my flesh felt like it was being burned off my body; now I know how storming the battlefield at Ypres must have felt like.  Gross.

Now, I’ve made light of farts before at the gym and I totally understand that, occasionally, farts are going to pop up, or ‘out’ as the case may be.  Well documented is my infamous ‘Fartageddon’ episode in the mezzanine upstairs at the YMCA during my first ever yoga class but, hey, that was completely accidental, nor did it choke the life from anyone.  Farts are just one of the many hazards you have to contend with at the gym.   I get it.  In fact, ‘stink’ just goes part and parcel with the entire sport.  But this situation was totally different.

Clearly this guy was suffering from a severely blocked bowel which could have been totally avoided by, oh, I don’t know, taking a mega-shit before hitting the treadmill maybe?  I mean, seriously, if you’ve just had a dinner of fried eggs and rotten German sausage, which is what I’m guessing this moron must have been eating for the past week, it is not acceptable to openly squeak out your foulness for the rest of us to suffer with.  In fact, they should add that to the official ‘Gym Etiquette board: “Please do not disturb other gym goers with your rectal turbulence, lest you should have your asshole plugged with a medicine ball”.  If your running or walking outside, hey, let ‘em rip, dude, (I do) but while inside sharing an enclosed environment with the rest of us:  NOT COOL.

Dude, I would have happily watched your treadmill for a moment so you could hit up the bathroom or go outside or something, rather than you having to secretly shake out the air biscuits from your shorts Andy Dufresne-style, a la ‘Shawshank Redemption’.  Wouldn’t it have felt better to be exercising without a weeks’ worth of compacted shit in your intestinal tract anyway?  I know it would have for the rest of us.  I’d rather wrap my lips around the exhaust pipe of a running 1970’s Ford Bronco than breathe in your noxious ass fumes.  At least I’m guaranteed to have a few more years on my life with the Bronco, thanks.

As it was, you carried on as if nothing had happened.  Hey, bud, just because you’ve blocked out the rest of the world by listening to your Lynyrd Skynyrd through your huge ass headphones with your eyes closed, the rest of us are still here, alive and well, and suffering.

Thanks for the consideration, you twit.

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Comments
  1. to validate the level of grossness this was- my eyes were burning and i wanted the smell to go away so badly that i almost grabbed the dirty ass rag people use to clean the treadmills and use it to cover my face.

    for a split second i thought you would think it was me, then i thought it was you. thank god you diffused the elephant in the room and said it wasnt you or i wouldnt have ran with you after cycling ever again. LOL

    • That’s funny because I thought it was you at first and I was, ahhh, how did that eminent from YOU?!! You must devil spawn. Then I looked over at the other guy and, like, umm, yeah…him. His oblivious attitude reeked of guilt…literally.

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