It’s funny. If you asked me how I feel about the treadmill,
I would probably tell you that I think it sucks -- a necessary evil to get a
run in when all other options simply aren’t in the cards. Today John is away,
so when Owen went down for a nap it was either the treadmill for a run, or no
run.
I opened the garage with irritation. Great, I was thinking, a run on the
hunk of junk. But what was this? The treadmill had been pushed to the wall and
several large items had been stored around it making it impossible to use. We
have been reorganizing and spring cleaning, and unbeknownst to me John had
moved stuff around in the garage -- making the treadmill inaccessible. A
dresser was backed up to it, the pressure washer, some boxes, the girls’ bikes.
I realized just how much I wanted to run on the treadmill when I rushed over
and began moving all the stuff. Finally I cleared it and jumped on to get
going. But the plug that John had woven through the rafters to reach an outlet
wasn’t working. Holy heck! So I jockeyed around extension cords
Christmas-Vacation-style, climbed up to another outlet and finally got my good
ol’ treadmill working. I fired up that badboy and realized how grateful I was
for my run.
One of the hard things about running on the treadmill is
that there is nothing to look at and distract myself with. I stare directly at
the wall. There’s a little wispy cobweb that starts swaying when I begin to
breathe hard. It follows my breath. I used to have a picture on the control
console of a woman I cut out of a running magazine. She had amazing quads and a
16 pack. It took it off after I had Owen because I realized that is not what I’m
running for any longer. It was just me, my breathing, and the little cobweb
moving in time with me.
Coming back in the house, I was so thankful and happy that I
got my run in while my baby boy was sleeping. While I was stretching my
chronically tight hammies, I thought to myself, I really do love that shitty
treadmill.
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