Excercise in Humility. (Or Humiliation.)

Dear Very Large, Very Sweaty Man who got on the treadmill next to me:
I'm so sorry.
I am so very sorry.
It's not you! It's me.
It's me, and my pregnant, hypersensitive nostrils.
It's me, and my baarrrrely contained stomach contents, even with maximum effort.
And, because you maybe skipped the deodorant today, well, it was kinda you, too. In a literal way.
But still, it was unintentional, and totally uncalled for that my eyes welled up and I gripped the handlebars and stumbled a little and quite audibly, quite noticeably retched in front of a packed gym.
If it makes you feel any better, which it most likely does not at all, any mortification felt is, I can assure you, mutual.