shoeLast June I decided I was going to try out the StairMaster at the candy store gym.

With determination driven by sheer purpose (I think I can, I think I can, I think I can) I strode across the gym. Tucked at the end of the last row of cardio paraphernalia were a handful of StairMaster machines. A lady was on the end unit, the second was empty, a gentleman was on the third one.

Second thought…the use of “gentleman” is premature.

I stuck my water bottle in the water bottle hole. Draped the smelly towel my membership entitled me to use for free over the hand rail (which smelled like it had been buried in a garbage can); got my playlist together (that’s code for I un-knotted my earphones), and finally with a cocky sense of purpose (know-it all-ness) I climbed upon the machine. Seven feet in the air I pushed the settings through to the program I wanted and pressed start (quick tip: what you set the elliptical to does not apply to the StairMaster. You might want to write that down.).

I made a mental note that the heart rate figures I inputted were most likely wrong because the stairs started to move very rapidly, simulating – oh, I don’t know – how one might run up a flight of stairs! I made a go of it and attempted to get my footing while I desperately searched for a warning label that would have given some detail as to why my feet weren’t fitted to the steps. I also made another mental note: write Nautilus a letter which would state a warning label that shared the bottom step disappears would be vital…and lifesaving.

I knew I needed to stop the machine and start over. I grabbed the top of the rail to pull myself up. My foot slipped off a step and as I slid down the length of the machine I uttered loudly, “You have GOT to be kidding me.”

The lady to the right and the gentleman to the left never moved. They continued to stare ahead and climb to their destinations.

I managed to get myself together and got the machine to cooperate. 30 minutes later I had logged 95 floors. I’m not entirely certain how floors are determined, but I don’t care. I did it.

Afterward I hit the elliptical, and got grossed out when the little skinny chick next to me left the machine and didn’t clean it.

Eew.

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