Saturday, December 16, 2006

I’ve seen waterbugs survive 10-20 foot stomps


(A multi-legged Storytelling Saturday)

Once upon a time...

Let’s start with five waterbug facts:

1. Not really a “waterbug” but rather an American Roach (Periplaneta americana)
2. Can reach up to 2 1/8 inches in length
3. A strong flier and both sexes have fully developed wings
4. Reddish-brown in color with a yellowish band near the head
5. They prefer warm, damp areas like basements

I offer these facts because some of the gyms at which I train clients are at basement level. Therefore, it’s impossible to avoid the occasional visit from a multi-legged, reddish-brown creature in those venues. Needless to say, my clients would not be acquiescent to sharing gym space with a Periplaneta americana. Thus, the appearance of a two-and-one-eighth incher must be avoided at all costs.

Here’s the set-up: It’s a humid August morning and a female client and I are the only people using a sub-level Upper East Side gym. In other words, we’ve got ourselves a moist, low-traffic basement environment. Right on cue, as my client finishes a set of push-ups, I discern movement out of the corner of my eye.

If you’ve ever seen a waterbug run, you know what I mean. These bastards can cover ground quickly and they are not diminutive. If one decides to scurry past you, it does not go overlooked. Fortunately, my client was wiping her face with a towel. This gave me a chance to reach out with my left leg and lightly foot-slap the Periplaneta americana into the corner…out of sight for now, but definitely not out of mind. Why didn’t I squash it, you wonder?

Practical reason: Even if I were able to kill it on my first try (highly unlikely, I’ve seen waterbugs survive 10-20 foot stomps), this would result in a very conspicuous death scene smack dab in the middle of the stretching area.
Philosophical reason: I’m a vegan and I do not make a habit of killing anything.

Our American roach played hide and seek with me for the rest of the session and I garnered some odd looks from my client as I maneuvered her from one end of the small gym to the other. Hey, the stakes were high. If she catches sight of him, she’ll never want to train there again…leaving me in the desperate position of finding a new gym (one that welcomes outside trainers, that is) before I lose her as a client.

When Periplaneta suddenly vanished, I spent the remaining few minutes of our workout sweating…just waiting for him to magically appear a few inches from my client’s face. There would be screaming, accusations, threats, and the type of bad energy that could forever taint a trainer-client relationship. She eventually finished up and left the gym…and I spent the rest of the day hoping Periplaneta hadn’t hitched a ride in her gym bag.

The End

Who wants to tell us a story in the comments section?

(But can anyone top this story?)

+++

P.S. Happy 45th Birthday to Bill Hicks, wherever you are:


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Posted on 12/16 at 07:22 AM
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