So, I was doing the grapevine in Lucille Roberts, tripped on my bellbottom pant leg, fell backwards with arms flailing, and hit my head on the floor. I know. I can just hear the snickers, so let me address things one at a time. Yes, I grapevine in the gym, and not in a class, by myself. I do a workout that intersperses pushups/body weight exercises, and plyometrics, with medicine ball, dumbbell and barbell exercises. And before you label me a pansy for adding a grapevine in there, know that 1) Football and basketball players do the grapevine in their workouts because it’s a great footwork/agility drill, and 2) I will whoop your ass.
I have been a personal trainer for 11 years and when I’m done with my clients for the day, I work out in Lucille Roberts in Queens. It’s cheap, and it’s all women. There are no men ogling the females or coming up to them to correct their form while they’re in the midst of their workout in order to start a conversation. Yes, the machinery is from the year of the flood, the floor is concrete covered with a thin cheap carpet (which I found out when my head hit it), and they are only open for about 15 minutes a day, so you have to be quick. But they are a half block from my apartment and, did I mention they’re cheap?
I can’t defend my pants, however. Wide legged workout pants are so three years ago. I bought a bunch of pairs from that store Lululemon a number of years back and they cost an arm and a leg, so I will wear those pants that make me look like a short squat tree trunk, until those gym guidos in their leopard print spandex shorts and tank tops with really large arm holes retire their outfits. But next time I wear them, I will be more careful. ‘Cause falling while grapevining quickly across a floor is not cute. Three women in head scarves stopped what they were doing (which was probably a good thing because almost no one knows what they’re doing in Lucille Roberts) and asked with wide eyes if I was OK. They had heard the crack of my noggin on the concrete. Miraculously, I was fine. I think I trip and fall with good form after so many years of working out. I got back up, laughed, finished my grapevine and continued with my workout.
All of this was notable to me because I didn’t die of shame. I think the gym has taught me that lesson over and over again. I’m someone who could, possibly, on some occasions, in some circles, be labelled a perfectionist. I can be really hard on myself and really aware of what others think of me. So when I allow myself to do a grapevine in a gym knowing it’ll get weird stares, and then when I trip over my own pantleg and fall without any grace onto the floor, I think of it as progress. Good job Trishie. You be you. I’ve fallen and been flung off the back of a treadmill that one of my client’s was on, I’ve almost crushed a really hot guy who asked me to spot him while he was bench pressing over 200 lbs. I had to yell “help!” while he was pinned, and a bunch of guys ran over to lift this loaded barbell off his chest. I’ve tripped over weight benches, walked into machinery, I’ve done all manner of embarrassing things in this place where we’re kind of all trying desperately to look cool, and I haven’t died of embarrassment. Almost, but I haven’t. And each time I don’t, it’s a victory. I realize a life lesson while I brush the lint off my back, hold my throbbing shin, or watch as the hot guy’s coloring returns to normal. I don’t have to be perfect, and each new day is a restart button. It’s what we’re promised. A new beginning, a resurrection and a reprieve. I’ll take it. Now I just need new pants.