Squashed tomato...

I fell off the running machine today. Not a little stumble, not even a big stumble, but fell flat on my face. Imagine someone lying down licking the floor, well that was how much on the floor I was. My face, nicely rosy from running for 23 minutes suddenly turned from a light pink to a, I don’t even know what colour to call it, well I turned into a tomato.

If being a squished tomato on the floor was not bad enough, the gym was full to the brim so I couldn’t even pretend to myself that only a few people saw. No. One man shouted out “someone stop that machine!” but the rest, the whole gym, just stared, mouth opened. 

Once on the floor, my brain asked itself… Should Tasha be a trooper and pick herself up and go back to running on the running machine, or does she run...away. Fight or flight. Tasha: flight. I ran, like a tomato child, past T-Shirt James, to my friend who was equally standing there staring mouth opened. 

Tomorrow’s agenda: find a new gym. Or grow a moustache.