A Tale of Caution

A Tale of Caution

By Don Jereux

- Page 1 -

For years I have been wasting money on gym memberships that I never use because I equally despise crowds and getting up early to avoid crowds. All that time, I have dreamed of the day that I could flip health clubs the bird, and never return. Slowly, over the years, I have accumulated an array of gym-caliber fitness equipment. Starting with a squat cage and some free weights, I have managed to grow my collection to a truly unreasonable amount. One single tether has remained to hold me in the nefarious clutches of the Health Club demon - that is the need for cardio equipment.

Specifically, I needed a treadmill.

There is a difference, I realize, between want and need. The difference, as far as I'm concerned, is academic.

I frolic and bound in place, always made giddy by the knowledge that there is no sign-up board cautioning me to not exceed a 30 minute maximum.

After years and years of lustful desire, this need was finally met. With great excitement, I recently purchased a treadmill. It was a joyous day for me, and I waited for its delivery with a gleeful anticipation that could best be described as 'that of a school-girl'.

It arrived and my home gym became complete (well... except for a steam room... I need that too... but let's concentrate on the treadmill right now). Every second I spend on it is a moment of pure, unadulterated happiness. I frolic and bound in place, always made giddy by the knowledge that there is no sign-up board cautioning me to not exceed a 30 minute maximum. Sometimes I turn it on and leave it run just to hear the calming hum of the spinning belt.

While I lope effortless across its endless plain, I survey the kingdom I have built. With great satisfaction, I look upon the squat cage, the leg curl machine, the lat-machine, the Olympic weights, bars and related gizmos, and the ab-station complete with mat and abdominal ball.

And, that, dear friends, is the exact moment that a mistake began - with the abdominal ball. It, you see, is both bouncy and rolly. These are two characteristics I always find particularly engaging. The abdominal ball became my muse - albeit one will ill-intent.

It occurred to me that I, at that exact moment, was running on something that seemed the perfectly suited to sport something bouncy and rollie.

The treadmill was positioned facing away from a wall, with about 2 feet of clearance from the end of the treadmill to the beginning of the wall. Leaning tidily against the wall, was a metal bed frame.

I reasoned that if I dropped the bouncy, roll-y ball on the treadmill, it would accelerate off the back, strike the metal bed frame and bounce back into my waiting, easily amused hands.

Sadly, this did not come to pass.

A couple preliminary bounces indicated something that should have occurred to me - bouncing the large ball on the moving treadmill won't cause it to shoot off the back. It, instead, causes it to begin spinning in the opposite direction, and then it bounces almost directly back up again.

To shoot off the back, the ball would probably need few bounces to let friction properly do its job.

I dropped the ball, and let it bounce... once... twice... three times... and then off the back.

The space between the back of the treadmill and the wall is two feet. The clearance between the back of the treadmill and the metal bed frame leaning against the wall is somewhat less two feet. The diameter of the ball is slightly greater than two feet.

The ball didn't shoot off the back and bounce anywhere. It shot off the back and got jammed between the bed frame and the treadmill. A half a second later it pushed the bottom of the bed frame towards the wall, causing it to teeter precariously. A half a second after that, the big, bouncy, rollie abdominal ball got sucked under the treadmill, causing the rear of the treadmill to launch upwards. As physics continued its path of destruction, the tread on the treadmill jammed under the suddenly insurmountable friction, and the motor cut out.

Fearing that I was watching the warranty-voiding demise of that which I had longed over so long, I leapt into the fray with a single-minded intent of saving the treadmill. I heaved up on the back (did I mention the treadmill is 300 pounds?), and frantically kicked at the ball with my foot. I managed to set it free, stumbling in the process. As reward for clearing the obstruction, I enjoyed the newfound horror of being pressed up against the skin-burning back end of treadmill that was once again spinning at 9 kilometres per hour.

Adding insult to injury, the commotion caused the already teetering metal bed frame to topple directly on top of me.