At the end of my Wednesday personal training session (back and biceps), I set about working on my abs. My trainer has me do a couple of different machines, which is a blessing because doing abs correctly requires a shorter neck than the giraffe-like one I am saddled with.
The final machine was one of those tilted bench presses, where your head is near the floor and your ankles are hooked under the bar and you have to keep sitting up over and over again while you try to conquer your nausea by imagining a sudden summer storm drenching you and leaving your six-pack visible beneath your wet shirt. When my trainer tapped my shoulder to signal the end of our session, I unthinkingly unhooked my ankles…and promptly slid down the bench and landed in a heap on the floor.
I at least had the good decency to lie there and refuse to get up, so it seemed more like a statement and less like a mortifying accident.