Bob’s feet and legs were on fire, shin splints were ripping through his shins, his ankles felt like they were about to snap, and sharp pains were running up his back. The fat around his waist was bouncing like it had never bounced before as he tried to keep up with the pace the treadmill was setting.
He was breathing heavy. Sweating like a man on a diet in a doughnut shop. A heart attack was surely on the horizon now, because he knew that he wasn’t supposed to go from couch potato to marathon runner this quick.
He tried to do what most would do in this moment, and that was to scream for help. He went to do this, but he was so winded that he couldn’t even muster a breath, let alone a scream.
He looked down at the dark video screen, and saw something pulsing, trying…
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