The Return of the Prodigal Gym Rat

I was so back at the gym. Lugging my bag filled with my water bottle, shoes and sweat clothes, I cheerfully entered the gym door, announcing my return to the ever-unfazed staff at the desk. The prodigal gym rat has come back after a considerable length of time- three weeks to be exact. The staff met me with a look that was a cross between oh-no-she's-back and I-wonder-how-long-she'll-last- this- time.

Soon enough, I was aboard a treadmill, huffing and puffing my way to a seemingly unreachable level of fitness. I ambitiously increased my incline and speed, and I went on like a crazed maniac running away from unnamed terrors. Then my chest began to tighten and my heartbeat started marching to a frenzied tempo. I saw my life flash before me and my hand reached out to my salvation. I hit the STOP button seconds before a heart attack would have killed me. The treadmill suddenly stopped as commanded, and I almost fell off, dizzy and out-of-breath from the swift events in those last five minutes.

I regained my composure and I headed for the weight room. I would not allow myself to be shaken by any intimidating gym mishaps or instructors.
I got my program card and took a long look at the exercises I was supposed to do that day. Head flexion, shoulder rotation, chest press... the list seemed endless. I took a deep breath and bravely stepped out of the room and went straight to the snack bar. I ordered a glass of banana shake and an apple. Now, I said to myself, this is what gym is all about.

I soon gathered my stuff and said goodbye to the grinning staff. I told them I will be back, mouthing MacArtur's famous words, "I shall return." I was a gym rat, after all.