The other night, I almost hit a Cardioglider with my car. It was in the middle of the lane on a dark street, and as my headlights revealed that I was zooming straight toward the blasted contraption, I instantly recognized it as the low-impact fitness machine that was popular in the nineties even though its name, Cardioglider, failed to come to mind. As I slammed on the brakes, my thought process was something like, “Aghhh! About to hit the pelvic thrust exerciser!” Meanwhile, my mind was pulling up my memories of the informercial for this product, where a dozen beauty queen types in country and western-inspired workout gear performed a synchronized aerobic routine with a dozen Cardiogliders. There was pantomimed lassoing and tipping of invisible cowboy hats galore.
I tell you what, the feeling of bearing down on the breaks and urging your car to just stop already, while the hulking frame of a Cardioglider looms straight ahead is a feeling of pure bewilderment.
I have had near death experiences in my car before. Like the time I was at a stoplight and I thought I saw the grim reaper in another car. Months later, I learned that the grim reaper was actually a pizza delivery girl, but still.
My car came to a stop right before I hit the Cardioglider. It was so close, the edge of the Cardioglider hooked under my bumper. I turned on my hazard lights and got out of the car to move the Cardioglider out of the road. I carried it clear onto the sidewalk to make sure it didn’t fall into the road again. I wouldn’t want it bewildering another motorist.
To the jerk who left your Cardioglider in the middle of the street – I hope you regret your actions. I hope it haunts you. I hope you hear the tell tale heart of the Cardioglider squeaking away when you are trying to sleep. You should be banned from ever owning gimmicky exercise equipment again.