CityMama is giving away a Wii Fit (and a Wii), but the condition is you have to tell your most embarrassing fitness story to win. Despite my best attempts, I wasn’t able to get in on the pre-sale of the Wii Fit, and I want one baaaaad, so if I must share my shame with you to have a chance at one, I will.

OK, Spring, 1995. The second half of my freshman year in college. My university had just opened a state-of-the-art rec center. It was the only workout facility for the entire campus population. It was enormous. The cardio workout room alone took up the entire second floor of the east wing, with 75+ machines and workout stations available for use.

What you need to know ahead of time was that this was a very image conscious university. Lots of perfect people, filling the rec center all hours of the day and night, working out obsessively to maintain that beautiful image. (And the women in this group always cleared out the salad bar at every dining hall. Try a burger, ladies!)

And then there was me. Not perfect. Not even close, really. I’ll admit to being intimidated by all of those pretty people. But a friend of mine was also a fitness nut, and knowing that I wanted to fit in, convinced me to join her three days a week at the rec center. It also helped that a guy we were friends with would be there, too, and I had a serious thing for him.

So there we were, 7pm on a weeknight, and as usual the place was packed. Elliptical machines were all the rage at the time, and the sign-up sheet to use one of them was filled for the night. The treadmills were also taken, and when I suggested the bikes my friend rolled her eyes and told me that stationary bikes would never give me the real workout I needed.

Our guy friend found us at this point. I was ready to suggest walking the indoor track – you know, a nice low-impact, lazy, scaredy-cat easy workout, but he surveyed the room (he practically lived at the rec center, and knew every machine in this place) and said, “If you want an awesome workout, you should try the NordicTrack.”

For those who aren’t aware, this is the NordicTrack:

Only the one at the rec looked bigger and more complicated. The woman, however, looks NOTHING like me.

I should also add that not only was I overweight at this point in my life, I wasn’t exactly known for my coordination, either. I had sprained my foot earlier in the school year by falling down one step. But at the urging of my two friends – one of which I was trying to impress – I examined the machine. It looked a little scary. Treadmills I had figured out in high school, and I had been on an elliptical once without any injury. But this looked like some medieval torture device. I wasn’t even sure what body part went where, other than my feet.

My guy friend jumped on one of the NordicTrack machines (which, in a room full of occupied machines, these were conspicuously empty of able-bodied fitness nuts) and in a few swooshing motions, showed me how to use it. I tried to play it cool, saying, “Oh yeah, I remember now! I used one of these back in high school. Piece of cake!”

He jumped off the machine in one graceful movement, wandering off to say hi to one of his buddies staffing the towel desk nearby. My female friend turned to me: “Well, let’s get going. We should get in some kind of a workout before this place closes for the night.”

“It closes at midnight, Jen. I think we have time.”

“Yeah, I know. I was planning on being here for a few hours. No pain, no gain, right?” she said with a smile. I wondered at that point how I missed the sadistic streak in her earlier.

I hesitated, looking at the NordicTrack ski machine, realizing I really had no idea how to use it. But I watched my guy friend use it – he made it look effortless. I glanced around at all of the beautiful people around me, happily gliding through the motions of their particular machines, all as graceful as figure skaters. I can do this, I thought, I’ll just get on and glide. This might be so easy that I won’t even feel like I’m getting a workout!

Taking a deep breath for confidence, I climbed onto the machine. I carefully put my feet into the toe holds, maintaining my balance so I didn’t move either ski. My friend took the machine next to me.

I shuffled my feet back and forth slowly, not more than a few inches each way, to test the skiing motion. It seemed pretty easy. Eh, this is easy, I thought. Oh, how cocky and unknowing I was in that moment.

The next events were only a few seconds and play in slow motion in my mind. I reached for the hand grip for my right hand (refer to picture for what I’m talking about), and when I did that, my weight shifted and my right foot suddenly shot out behind me on the right ski. That, of course, forced the left one forward and my upper half pitched forward onto the belly rest to keep my balance.

At that point I aborted grabbing for the right hand grip and tried to regain my balance by bringing my legs back together, but I didn’t anticipate just how easily those skis moved. As I summoned the strength to pull my legs back together, I overcompensated and in one swift motion they shot the other direction – the right going forward, the left going back. Only this time, I had been holding my upper body upright, and now it was moving backwards too.

The force of this sudden, uncontrolled motion sent me flying backwards off the machine. I remember looking briefly over at my friend and saw the confused expression on her face as I fell. I don’t remember the rest of the fall, although I heard a yelp. I was so outside of my own body at that point that I didn’t realize the screech was mine. Before I knew it I was staring at the lights hanging from the ceiling, followed by my two friends and one of the rec center workers standing over me. My guy friend looked horrified, but Jen could barely contain her laughter.

“What the hell?” she asked, trying to stifle her giggles. “Are you OK?”

“I…yeah, I think I’m fine. Can we please leave? I don’t want everyone to stare at me.” I started to sit up, realizing one foot was still on the instrument of my flight. I gently extracted my foot from the machine.

She couldn’t help but laugh at that point. “It’s a little late for that!”

I looked up, and saw several of those beautiful faces staring at me. Everyone on that end of the workout room heard me yell and saw my subsequent tumble from the NordicTrack, and now their eyes were all fixed on me. (Although I should point out that very few of them stopped their workout – most were still going, just with their heads turned in my direction. Priorities, people.) Some looked concerned, but most looked at me like I was a puppy chasing my tail – amusing and pathetic at the same time.

My guy friend helped me up. “Maybe you should try something a little…safer…like walking the track.” He was trying to be helpful, but I felt humiliated.

“Yeah, I’ll do that…” I mumbled.

The guys at the towel desk were still smirking, and applauded me as I walked past. “Nice dismount,” one laughed. “You totally made tonight more interesting.” My already red face burned hot as I hurried towards the locker room.

I didn’t go back to the rec center until the next school year, and even then I stuck to the track for the first several months. I had never made such a fool of myself in front of 100+ people before, and the bruises healed far faster than my embarrassment.

See? This is why I need a Wii Fit. The balance board is less complicated, and if I do fall off it, at least there’s no one around to stare and laugh.