Three Retches–I Mean Reps

Yesterday as I was walking to the Smith Fieldhouse gym, I beheld a most disgusting sight.

A gym bro came staggering out of the gym and into the hallway, leaning against the wall about thirteen feet away from me. Then, without warning, he vomited more than I have ever seen another living being vomit. Like a stomach acid volcano. I won’t go into too much detail here, but safe to say, utterly disgusting.

He muttered some vague apology to me in the hall, ignored me when I asked if he was okay, and then disappeared into the men’s bathroom. I sidestepped the newest man-made lake and went to go work out, thinking nothing of it.

Then lo and behold, who should appear two minutes later in the gym? The vomit man himself, somewhat cleaned up with sink water and back at the bench press with his pal.

I was terrified I was going to witness Splash Mountain 2, On His Friend’s Face This Time, but luckily there were no further incidents to report.

I don’t know if this was a case of illness, disordered workout mentality (he looked rather dehydrated and had been in the gym prior to my arrival and stayed after I left) or just general male stubbornness, but whatever it was, it was gross. I hope he feels better, and learns that no one wants a man who smells like vomit to work out next to them.