I have recently rekindled my relationship with fitness, largely because my doctor tells me that my already messed-up back is becoming more messed-up by the extra weight I’ve gained from sitting in planes. So I find myself in a Chelsea hotel’s basement gym that has a distinct “Silence of the Lambs” knockoff vibe.
I’ve been in some questionable gyms -- smelly, broken equipment, moldy towels. What sets this one apart is the position of the equipment and the lighting. The treadmill is pushed into the corner, exposing my back to the door, and the overhead lighting is broken, making it impossible to see if someone has entered the gym.
Most women feel they need to have their heads on a swivel at all times when they are alone. But how? My headphones are in, the treadmill is loud, and there are no mirrors to give me a peripheral view.
I power through my run, relying on my spidey-sense to alert me if someone comes in behind me. As I finish my run and turn to step down, a movement catches my eye and in one terrifying moment I flinch and let a little “Whoop!” escape my throat. Another woman had joined me at some point during my run and I was none the wiser. She smiles and instantly apologizes for startling me, and we both laugh.
My headphones are in, the treadmill is loud, and there are no mirrors to give me a peripheral view.
I power through my run, relying on my spidey-sense to alert me if someone comes in behind me. As I finish my run and turn to step down, a movement catches my eye and in one terrifying moment I both flinch and let a little “Whoop!” escape my throat. Another woman had joined me at some point during my run and I was none the wiser. She smiles and instantly apologizes for startling me, and we both laugh.
But when I think about it on my way back up to my room, I realize that she could have been anyone. Headlines of “Woman Found Smothered with Bosu Ball in Chelsea Gym” circulate in my head. Hotel-room yoga is the way to go next time.
~Journey On, Janes
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