"Sir, you can't stalk a stalker!"

This is the world record holding treadmill runner. 24 hours on a treadmill. I'm guessing he had the same situation and was just more stubborn than me, and wouldn't get off the treadmill for NO ONE! Notice the stalkers.

It wasn't my usual time to frequent the gym, but it's what the schedules permit. It was right around 4:45 that I noticed it was getting pretty busy with the after work crowd. I thought you normal working people didn't get off work until 5, but I'm not one to judge. Well, I am, but, oh nevermind.

I'm on the treadmill, rocking out to some LL Cool J, doing my sweet finger dancin, in deep deliberation as to how many calories one can burn while finger dancing, when I notice a guy standing around in the cardio area. There's an abundance of machines. And he stands there in the middle of floor waiting. Meet Treadmill Stalker Guy. Super. The longer he did it, the more I couldn't believe what he was doing. He was waiting for a treadmill. My gym is accomodating to every possible preference of exercise equipment you can imagine. You've got sitting bikes, upright bikes, a rowing machine, hand pedal thingies, stair masters, stair steppers, four different types of elipticals and tread mills galore. There's the big treadmills, I call them the BigBerthas. They are huge, and usually I don't feel worthy of getting on one. But if that's all that was left, I would certainly saddle up. The majority of the treadmills are another model. And that's what this guy awaits. I know, because I checked, while running and there were 2 BigBerthas available. Mind you, there's also an INDOOR TRACK that circles the entire workout center. And yet, he stands and stalks. At this point, I'm getting a bit ticked off. He's right in front of me, scanning the row of runners.

I decided to get off the treadmill, let the stalker have my treadmill. I'll show him. I'll kill him with kindness and then blog about him. Mwaaahahaha. Just as I was about to hit the stop button, stalker turns and walks a few paces away. A new guy jumps on the treadmill next to me, but it's broken. There's a note explaining it's broken, but on the front of the treadmill. So, if you do like you're supposed to, and get on the treadmill from the back, you can't see it. I take offf the headphones tell him it's broken. He's a bit embarassed. That's when I ruthlessly kill many birds with one simple kindness stone, "No problem, you can have this one," and with a big smile on my face, jumped off the treadmill.

I can see out of the corner of my eye, but too scaredy to look at stalker IN the eye, that he's turned back around and is appalled that I let someone else have the coveted treadmill. But it was too late! MWWAAAHAHAH! I got him back, gave the treadmill to some other guy AND I blogged about him. Woohoo! I WIN! I WIN!

Sigh.

I finished out my jog on the track. As I circled, I noticed stalker-chump's pace, once he finally got on a treadmill, was a measley 5.2 mph.His gait was, uh, well, imagine a panicked white man running with steel-toed shoes on from muggers on unsteady terrain, and there you go. Poor guy. I think it was his first day at the gym.

Thank goodness I was there to help him learn a lesson. I don't look it, but I've been in lots of gyms. There's just an assumed ettiquette.
Numero Uno: Don't stalk the oxygen-lacking runners. It's bad form.
Numero Two: Boys shouldn't stare at themselves in those mirrors so much. It's freaky when there's all those hot chicks walking around. It really is. Really.

That's how I roll.