The Smith Machine

Welcome to humiliation.
“What is the routine today”, the usual question from Sparta on training day.
“I need to do chest”, said I with unusual confidence. I have been feeling really comfortable with the free weights in the last few weeks.
Did she read my attitude or was it just time to show me how far I have to go?
“Lets go to the Smith Machine for some barbell incline bench presses”.
She loads the machine, two twenty-five pound plates per side; I am chuckling inside thinking no sweat.
I begin the activity, 10 reps and I am fighting hard to get the last one.
“Breathe” as she loads on more weight.
“I am humiliated,” I say.
“You want me to put on two of the large plates so it will look better?”
I don’t want to play the fool so I say, “no this is fine”.
More presses, hard, more weight, harder and now she is assisting with each press, then press and hold while she removes some weight, press and hold then continue, it is no longer fun, it has become serious.
In my heart I know she will not let the weight drop on me and crush something I love, like my ribs but there is a nagging suspicion that I have crossed into a new dimension.
Finally it is over and we go to a new machine, this one she helps me push out and then I am to let it down very slowly, one----two-------three---------four---------five then push out. Here she assists.
Each time it gets harder and harder and no whimpering is allowed.
I look; gratefully my time is up.
I always go in thinking I am mastering this new discipline; then I meet the Smith Machine and two new ways to torture muscle.
I am sure I will die before I am introduced to all of the vicissitudes of this challenge.
I only wish Granny Smith had invented this machine instead of naming an apple.
Grandmas tend to be nicer.