You have to be kidding me Krause... a freaking balancing ball! What happened to the days of tossing 45's on the bar and bouncing the whole mess off your chest to get that last rep out. A FREAKING BALANCING BALL!!!
I'm not going to need a spotter to do 2 sets of 12 push ups on this day glow balancing ball. I'm not going to need the juice-head guerrilla to bro hug me once I nearly blow out brain vein. I'm going to need protective custody once the powder puff's cat calling from the stair master section start questing my man card's expiration date. Seriously! A balancing ball should not be allowed in a man's man gym.
Thankfully it was early morning, only a hand full of patrons saw my buffet of humble pie. That $.55 worth of poorly inflated, Chinese made rubber sphere treated me like a red headed stepchild. If it could have thrown out some trash talk, I might have broken down and cried. There is nothing more embarrassing than seeing a grown man, spaghetti arming women's push ups, sweating like a long-tailed cat at a rocking chair factor, and shaking like seizures on a day glow balancing ball.
May my ego know peace some day.
Ah, the dreaded stability ball pushup! Even the most hardened of roid addled meathead tremble in a combination of fear, embarrassment, and total loss of muscular faculty at the mere mention. If it's any consolation, you'd have made a much bigger fool of yourself having an apoplictic event "attempting" that last rep at a paltry 135 on bench, with, as you put it, reprehensible, possibly injury inducing form. Yeah the "skinny fat" spandex clad gym skanks probably giggled as they ran past, late for Zumba...again, where they will undoubtedly smear their makeup and lose more muscle along with any hope of acheiving their dream body. (Group classes...where fitness dreams go to die, well there and the rec center) In the end, you and I know who will be doing the giggling, and for some reason, in my mind it looks like a schoolgirl.
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