The Squat Fart

I think I am ready to share something horrible from my past.
It occurred about 12 months ago when I was at the gym. It was the last time I have been to the gym. I am still mortified. Therapy has helped.

I was waiting for a machine called a leg press and I was about to get on it when a bloke and his personal trainer went to get on it. I liked the leg press as you could sit down. You can fashion it so it looks like you are trying very hard…. but really you are not.

Me : “Sorry – you go and I will do something else” like fill up my water bottle or continue to procrastinate.

Trainer : “No – come train in. Train in. TRAIN IN”

Me : “Sorry but I am not sure what you mean,”

Trainer : “Switch up the reps”

By this stage I am totally confused, but through a series of role plays and flip chart with a marker, I work out that me and the 2 cute boys were going to take turns. That is what “train in” means.

I pop up on the machine. Trainer man adjusts the weights for me and I grab the handles and push back. 

The most enormous fart rips out as I extend my legs. The sound of it hitting the vinyl seat reverberates though the gym. Man those buildings have good acoustics! It was timed perfectly with my stretch. 

There was no denying it. 

There was no excuses. 

There was no time to ignore it. The look of shock and horror on the faces of those two men was only mirrored by my absolute desire to run as fast as I could and keep running a la Forrest Gump.

Would be delighted to hear Woogworld reader’s similar stories of public humiliation if you are ready to share. Warts and all. Try and beat that.
  • Poor Mrs Woog, but then you have had two babies so that is a walk in the park in comparison.
    My worst fart story happened on my first day of a new job. I was talking to two rather prissy girls and I moved upwards to make a point and farted. Opps

  • So on the weekend (or some recent hideous day of high humidity and unrelenting heat due to which I was wandering around the house in my undies and a t-shirt) I’m on the phone to a friend and I wander onto the back verandah to see what all the racket was about in terms of which child was killing which when I had occasion to cop a feel – on the outside of my undies because you know, I’m not a slut or anything. I am not sure why I did this because it certainly wasn’t to satiate an itch. I think it was more an examination of just how de-elasticised this particular pair of underpaints had become. And then, in the realm only KRudd can possibly understand seeing as he has had cause to pick his ear and eat his own earwax, I took a sniff. Of the fingers.

    Only to look up and see my (m.a.l.e.) next door neighbour at his kitchen window.

    If that wasn’t bad enough because seriously, if someone could possible make it worse, today I went onto the back verandah to put on my daggy old sneakers to mow the back lawn (and no, that is not a euphemism) and as I sat down to do so let rip quite an impressive fart that ricocheted around the backyard, prompting one of the offspring to go ‘OHHH MUUUUM’ from the trampolampoline.

    Only again, to look up and see the very same neighbour standing at the very same window. (It’s their kitchen window on the second floor which looks directly down onto our backyard).

    I’m figuring I should just strip naked and saunter round out the back gardening for a few hours to just get all possible scenarios over and done with.

    You asked.

  • Oh gosh. Never laughed so hard in my life. I feel for you and for your commenters too. I, myself, have no such stories to relate, because I don’t fart. Ever.

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  • My career as a ballerina ended a similar way… I wouldn’t have needed a tutu, I could’ve kept the skirt up by myself.

    • Just thought of a more recent one! Time has not quite healed this wound. I was using one of those asterisk shaped stepping circle things in the park (it’s for coordinated people to exercise on) when I fell off it, and as a bonus farted really loudly in front of two nice old ladies.

  • Wendy

    That sounds exactly like my first and last yoga class 🙂

  • chrisatpb

    No embarrassing fart story for me – although who knows what the future holds? I read a clever list many years about what to expect in life after 50 and the only one I remember is “never trust a fart”.

  • A similar thing happened to me with my personal trainer over ten years ago now. My trainer was holding my feet down so I could do some sit ups. Second sit up in I farted from the pressure, right in his face. My personal trainer let my feet go and told me to get a drink because he needed a breather. It was a horrifying experience and I’ve been wary of training with a personal trainer since!