A musician, a policeman and a mom walk into a gym.  The policeman and the musician are silent, mentally preparing for the man some have taken to calling “The Cuban Assassin” and others simply call “Rick.”

Rick enters the room.  For a second there I thought the horizontal and vertical settings on my eyeballs were out of whack. The man is twice as thick as a “normal” man his height.  Impressed, policeman and I said nothing to one another, stared at the floor preparing our mind and soul for whatever Rick was about to do to us.

The mom was not silent.  She looked at us as if we’d ask her how her day was and then told us.  About how crazy Wal-Mart was.  How annoying her middle child was while in Wal-Mart.  About what Wal-Mart stopped carrying.  About how she’s never going to Wal-Mart again but how she’s said before and…

Then Rick had us “baby-step” quickly through a long ladder pattern on the ground for a minute.  Then move back and forth between cones while in the squatting position for a minute.  Then work on triceps for a minute.  Then squats while curling.  Then shoulders while squatting in an entirely different and more evil way.  Then abs and push-ups for five minutes.  Then a medicine ball thing while jumping on and off a springing step thing.  And then the whole gambit again. 

On the second go around I thought to myself, “Self, you’re doing pretty well.” Nothing on my body was hurting, shaking, screaming for help (all that loudly). My heart rate was up (the whole point for me) but I wasn’t winded. Apparently the little bit of exercise I do some nights at home did more for me than I realized.  I was feeling a little cocky.

Then, while doing the squatting curls thing again, I burped and tasted the fish from dinner juuuuuust a little bit. Then I burped again.  And again.  And then I felt like the fish wanted out. Immediately.

Rick saw the distress on my face and asked how I was doing.  There was no way I was taking a break before Wal-Mart mom did.  So I waved him off and kept working.  Until we switched squatting positions and then, well, I had to decide which would be worse: Resting before Wal-Mart mom did or vomiting on near her.

So I went and deposited my fish tacos in the trash can, swished some water in my mouth, and rejoined the group for push-ups and abs.

According to Rick, it’s a bad idea to eat fifteen minutes before exercising with him.  Huh.  Who’d of thunk it?

I’ll be back.  With no fish.  But I might bring my own trash can just in case.