Blogs by Ella Fisher
Leg Press Laugh Fest & Treadmill Tunes: How My Bestie and I Turned a Gym Day into a Comedy Special
Hey there, fellow gym warriors and giggle-seekers! Pull up a bench (or, you know, hop on a rowing machine—whatever floats your cardio boat), because I’ve got a tale of exercise equipment gone rogue, unstoppable laughter, and two best friends in a full-blown wrestling match… with fitness machines. Oh, and stay tuned for our newfound treadmill routine that’s part torture, part concert.
Prelude: Carpool Chaos with Mini Tornadoes
Before we even stepped foot in the gym, my bestie had this genius idea: her daughter and my daughter would tag along to watch—and even play in—the evening’s water polo match. Cue two hyperactive kids cranking up the volume to “squeal” within the confines of our minivan – my Suzuki Splash. Have you ever tried carrying on an adult conversation with two over-caffeinated cheerleaders in the backseat? Yeah… not happening. We finally threw in the towel and picked up the thread of our chat after safely delivering our mini maelstroms to the pool deck. Crisis averted—temporarily.
The Dynamic Duo Hits the Iron Playground
My bestie and I are gym regulars—if you spot two chatty goofballs powerwalking past treadmills, that’s us. What I adore most about her is that she’s witnessed every shade of my personality (all ten of them, FYI) and still sticks around like the most reliable dumbbell rack. I get the same unconditional love back: she’s my anchor, my sounding board, and my personal hype squad.
Machine #1: The “Almost-Butterfly” Press
Picture a half-reclined bench with a footplate in front. First time I approached it, I thought, “Cool, I’ll be sculpting my quads in no time.” A helpful gym guy coached us through three sets of twelve—easy peasy. Fast forward to our next visit: I’m on this contraption, squeezing my legs like I’m closing a giant clam, when suddenly I start sliding down. Every press upward made me laugh hysterically—think seal-in-circles, flopping around, gasping for air.
My bestie, trying to focus on her reps, eventually nudged me out of her sight—“Stay there and compose yourself!” Meanwhile, I’m off in la-la-land, tears streaming down my face, while nearby gym-goers probably thought I was auditioning for a physical comedy show. If you know which machine this is and why it betrayed me, holler—I could use a settings tutorial!
Machine #2: The Seated Squeaker
Next up: the seated version of our first nemesis. Here’s how it works—push weights out with your legs, then let them slowly retract. Normally, it’s a smooth, hydraulic-ish sigh. But oh no. When I let my legs relax, this thing emitted a shaky, trembly squeal like an angry raccoon caught in a windstorm. Cue another round of uncontrolled laughter. I was weeping with joy (and maybe a little embarrassment) until I literally couldn’t push the sled anymore.
Machine #3: The Hip Abduction Houdini
Finally, the notorious hip abductor: you’re supposed to press your legs outward against resistance, then slowly bring them back together. Simple, right? WRONG. There’s a neat little footrest to keep your feet in place… except my feet apparently had other plans. I plopped them on the pads, turned to my bestie for tips, and realized I’d positioned them totally askew, like a newborn giraffe learning to stand. Sweat poured down my forehead as I tried to follow her graceful form only to look like I was auditioning for “Gym Fails of the Month.”
Grand Finale: The Treadmill Training (and Tunes!)
After surviving the mechanical mayhem, we cap off every session with our holy-grail treadmill blast. Here’s the blueprint for burning—and I do mean burning—fat:
- 40 minutes total:
- 10 min at 10% incline (just enough to feel like you’re hiking up Everest)
- 10 min at 12% incline (hello, quad bonfire)
- 10 min at 14% incline (is this normal? who cares, keep going)
- 10 min at 15% incline and 3.5 km/h (please send help)
- Cooldown: 10 min at a leisurely 5 km/h
And the soundtrack? Pure madness. We alternate between my Korean rap playlist (full of beat drops that feel illegal in a gym), her curated pop hits, my face-melting metal anthems, and random Dutch tunes that somehow sound like a coffee-shop sing-along. Then there are the “foute trage” (guilty-pleasure slow jams) that basically turn the treadmill into quicksand. The result? We sweat buckets.
Is this the best fat-blasting combo ever? We’re convinced. Our hearts pound, our calves scream, and our spirits soar—plus, the variety keeps our brains from staging a “no more cardio” protest.
Lessons Learned (and Muscles Tested)
- Read the machine instructions… or at least glance at them.
- Bring waterproof mascara. Tears of laughter are no joke.
- Gym friends are the best judges.
- Laughter is the ultimate ab workout. Who needs crunches when your stomach hurts from giggling?
- Treadmill inclines + eclectic playlists = next-level cardio. Side effects may include sore glutes and epic stories.
