This is very slow! Not even 1.7 miles per hour! Oh, why no! It's even slower than that!
When the patient has cried Uncle! and has collapsed onto the gurney behind her, don't dismissively wave one arm and say, "I can't tell you anything from this! It'll go to the main hospital and somebody there will look at it. I can tell you that your tolerance for exercise is very poor."
Do not run your gaze from forehead to feet and back again and say, "Maybe it's just because you're out of shape."
Trust me: a fat person knows that she is fat. She doesn't need you, you angular pointy-chinned witch, to disdainfully advise her of the fact.
I came home and wept with shame.
I will never . . . never . . . ever . . . go through one of those things again.