Potentially Hazardous Absences of Rational Though - Part Two

As much as I try to forget, I can't help but remember yet another fearful incident that left an emotional scar. It occurred while I was at the fitness center which I frequently frequent. In the middle of a fairly-unorganized basketball game, an argument erupted on the court when a rather large Hawaiian man disputed the score of the game as called by another basketball player. This argument spiraled increasingly out of control as it made its way off of the court and out into the center of the gym. Heads began to turn towards the multi-cultural spectacle, and because I happened to be playing in that basketball game, and now standing in the center of the gym, I was in the thick of it. As voices raised, along with the overall testosterone level in the room, the Hawaiian was soon yelling above everyone else using frequent obscenities.

Now, I can handle the occasional disagreement, but I was in the middle of something entirely different and of a much higher caliber. These grown men argued with increasing intensity, and I'm not going to lie to you: I was nervous. It was only a matter of time before punches were thrown. As fear reared its ugly head, a Potentially Hazardous Absence of Rational Thought was inevitable. I lost my mind, and my following actions prove it.

In a moment of Patton-like heroism, and in a mindless attempt to remedy the situation, I looked toward the fuming Hawaiian and put my finger to my lips, thereby telling him to hush. Risky? No, risky is two drips of Tabasco. Telling a Hawaiian the size of a Hummer to shut up was beyond risky, borderlining suicidal. Still, I knew if he did somehow heed my subtle advice, we could nip this situation in the bud and there would be no bloodshed. The Hawaiian and I made eye contact as he saw my gesture, and the room suddenly went silent, except for the faint whirring of treadmills. (It occurred to me that at this point in time that my role was a little less Patton, and a little more Custer.)

A lesser man would have resorted to pants-wetting under his hostile gaze, but I simply concentrated on breathing, while mentally weighing my bravery against my desire to live. As those around us were obviously shocked by my boldness/stupidity, as well as my sudden appearance in the argument, I simply stood there with a nervous look on my face, my lip twitching slightly and totally uncontrollably. After our brief stare down, he spoke to me slowly and clearly, making it quite obvious that he would roast me on a spit at his next luau if he ever saw me again. Of course, his actual words included more expletives, and his tone told me that this threat was not beyond him.

As I said at the beginning, and as you can imagine by now, this incident left a scar. Now whenever I go to the gym I have to wear a full disguise, lest I be recognized and promptly decapitated by a flying pineapple. Or perhaps shish-kabobbed by a tiki lamp. Still, if I may say so myself, it's commendable that I even attempt to work out in that same facility considering my history there.

But I do attempt to work out, and it's going quite well. In fact, I recently discovered the difference between a barbell and a dumbbell. The former is what you call a steel bar with weights on each end. The latter is what you call the moron who is trapped awkwardly beneath the former. In full disguise. Yes, weight-lifting is dangerous, especially if you don't have a workout partner there to "spot" you just moments before you could die.

My brothers and I used to lift weights together, but they got tired of me humming Rocky while they bench pressed, so now I fly solo. Since I am without any spotter these days, I stay away from barbells for the most part, opting instead to use a weight machine. With these, one simply sits down wherever there's padding and starts moving stuff around. Up, down, left, right; the direction doesn't really matter as long as the vein in my forehead is bulging, which shows people passing by that I am indeed working out. Or about to lay an egg. I must be doing something right though, because I leave the gym after an exhausting workout feeling a deep and gratifying burn.

Which might be this tiki lamp in my back.