A violent breakup with the treadmill

The treadmill and I are no more.

Once upon a time (January-March '08) I was a gym rat. I lifted weights, and hit the cardio machines like nobody's business. Then I got burned out.

Are you really surprised??

So I decided to pick up running and then moved onto the Triathlon training. It gives me socializing time (seriously, we talk while we bike, run, and swim...as best we can anyway), a goal to shoot for (10 days and counting till my first Tri!), and the fitness aspect I was looking for.

Anyway, I got the bright idea to go to the gym for a run instead of around the neighborhood for a change. It was AWFUL! I hated the running pace, I hated my music, I hated the gym's music, I hated the people talking, I hated the people on cell phones (seriously, why are you at the gym?), I hated it all.

I lasted 11 minutes and 37 seconds before I hit the emergency stop button (there was no other stop button on the machine) and was pitched forward so hard that I hit my stomach on the front hand rail, and nearly fell on my butt. I gave the treadmill the stink eye and informed it that we had to see other people.

After I picked up what was left of my pride I went outside for my run.

I learned that I love the quiet of running outdoors and being up early enough to see the sunrise. I love the sound of my feet hitting the pavement and my own breathing in my ears. I learned that I love when my body sets its own pace and my mind is at peace. I love that for that 40 minutes my only focus was one foot in front of the other.

I love easy runs on my own because it is a kind of therapy. I love long runs with other people because I keep running far after I want to quit.

Running might be a metaphor for life.