As the half way point of my shift approached, with all the inmates off to bed, dreaming of freedom while snoring and relieving bodily pressures, I knew the opportunity had arrived to take advantage of the facility’s gym equipment. Leg day seemed the best course, as its place in the rotation of my routine had arrived months ago. First up, sumo squats. One set, then leg lifts. A second and third set, with leg lifts following each. I moved on to lunges. First set down.
Then it happened. It got hot but I couldn't sweat. I got nauseous. I put my cold water bottle on the back of my neck. It didn't result in the desired outcome. Hotter and hotter; I could feel myself getting overheated. I moved into the locker room to splash cold water on my neck and face. I finally began to sweat; only it wasn't a good sweat. I began to shake. Hotter and still hotter, my core temperature was reaching the all to critical boiling point. Beads of sweat began to pour down my face. Shaking and sweating and nauseous, I moved to the trash can.
I felt my stomach and chest heave as the contents therein began to fill the trash can. The sound of my heaving filled the locker room and moved out into the weight room. My partner, concerned for my well-being, rushed to my rescue only to find me in a state of distress he was not equipped to assist in. Wanting to help, he asked questions to determine a course of action he could take. But I was unable to answer, as still more evacuation of my innards were spilled into the restroom's receptacle.
Minutes went by as my body began to relax back into a state of control. As I slowly recovered, I began to tell him I'd be alright, all the while realizing my pride would not be so quick to relinquish the shame I felt. Okay, yeah. I puked at work. #embarrassing #fatty
