My wife and I met at a health club, which is not all that surprising given that we both played sports in high school and college and even today are still pretty active athletically. Now the kids have probably heard this story dozens of times, but our oldest daughter is getting into family history and writing everything down for posterity, and she’s been after me for a while to do this, so here it is. I think after I’m done you’ll see why both boys have a middle name of Rube (Rueben, actually) and both girls have a middle name of Ruby.

Now memories fade or get fuzzy as you age, but that afternoon’s events are still as clear in my mind as if they happened yesterday.

It was my second job after college, located in one of those sprawling suburban industrial/business parks. Soon after starting the job I joined a nearby health club and worked out there at lunch three or four days a week. I had been going to the club for about three weeks when the events related here took place.

I was running on a treadmill and had, for want of a better place, put my keys on the control console. But the pounding of my feet made the console vibrate and without my noticing it the key chain moved to the edge, then fell off. It landed on the treadmill, which shot it off between my legs across the aisle and struck a fellow on a cycling machine in the side as he was about to take a drink from a water bottle. Startled, he raised his hands and the bottle flew out of his hand and over his right shoulder, landing in front of a guy carrying two hand weights back to the rack. The guy didn’t see the bottle, stepped on it, and as he slipped the two weights flew out of his hands. One landed on top of the water cooler, shattering the large plastic water bottle, and the water poured out onto the floor. The pool attendant, crossing the room with a large pile of towels, saw the other weight coming his way, so he jumped back, slipped on the water, and sent the towels flying while the weight crashed through one of the glass walls of the head trainer’s cubicle and smashed into her computer’s monitor, sending out a burst sparks and a cloud of smoke.

One of the towels landed on the head of the tennis pro who, temporarily blinded, bumped into and knocked over a basket of tennis balls, which rolled all over. Several of them rolled into the aerobics class, one right under the feet of the instructor. She was leading the class in a routine which involved hopping from one foot to the other with a small weight in each hand. She stepped on one of the balls and lunged forward, driving her head into the stomach of the woman right in front of her, a rather heavy-set woman. This woman fell backwards, dropping one of her weights on the foot of the woman behind her, who dropped her weight on her own foot.

The club manager, attracted by commotion, rushed into the gym. She slipped on the water and stumbled in the yoga area. She plowed into the back of the instructor, who, along with the class, was standing on one leg. The yoga instructor fell forward into the student in front of her, which knocked down the next four students, domino-like. The last student fell against the partition separating the yoga area from the rest of the gym. The partition toppled over and landed on the cyclist who had thrown his water bottle.

By this time the smoke from the cracked monitor had reached the ceiling, which set off the sprinklers and the fire alarm. As the water cascaded around us, a tall, attractive brunette approached me, her wet hair plastered to her head, holding out a set of keys. “I believe these are yours,” she said. And that’s how we met.

Copyright © 2005 Kevin Brady