What this tale didn’t look like. Mostly, because I was on a treadmill, and I am surprisingly not a ripped black man. The rest is pretty accurate.
A while ago I wrote a post about the not so welcoming demeanor of my gym’s personell and other unfortunate events that occur in my place of workout. After I wrote the post, I wondered if it was all in my head… until yesterday.
I will pat myself on the back a bit by saying that this marks my sixth week of training for the color run in New Orleans in November. My regimen has been a full hour-long workout, five days a week. Actually, next time you receive a comment from me, I will most likely be posting it from either the treadmill, stationary bicycle, or the locker room where I am stealing towels. Wait, what?
The way I train is to run in intervals. This week, I have worked my way up to running six-minute intervals broken up by one minute of walking. I repeat that five times. Anyway, yet another odd interaction happened to me yesterday during my run.
I was jamming to Alanis in attempts to get that angry run going. I had only gotten through two intervals when the owner of the gym
scared the endorphins out of me approached me in a normal manner. He practically jumped on the belt and started running with me. After realizing that he was actually just trying to talk to me, I slowed down to a brisk walk and unplugged my ears. This is the conversation that ensued: Continue reading