The treadmill. This motorized fitness contraption that supposedly helps people take off lbs secretly keeps those same pounds exactly where they have always been, right around the ass. It doesn’t happen for everyone, like the ones who actually use the fucking thing to run on, not to hang out on. But like most of America this is the minority as most treadmills are filled with people just leisurely walking and talking. Yes, that same walking thing they can do in the great outdoors, but for some reason or another they feel better about themselves for doing it on a hamster wheel that gives them a TV option and a very inaccurate calorie burn meter.
Every now and then I end up on one of these never ending conveyor belts. And, without fail, every time I run into the same person, either the male or female version. These special individuals are the lost souls who are reaching out for anyone to talk to. As much as I enjoy writing, I really hate talking. What I really hate is talking to someone I don’t want to talk to. Just because I happen to be ambulating on a machine less than an inch from yours does not make it okay to open up about your plans for Thanksgiving, or even worse this fucking election. Who cares how delicious your Aunt Peg’s stuffing is or why I should even give a shit about whoever is going to call Pennsylvania Ave their address for the next four years?
As soon as I get on the treadmill I almost immediately regret my decision. It is not for a lack of trying, like I do when I utilize the urinals at the public restroom. You better believe I scope out the joint and aim for the least populated area. I do my best to make life easier all around and that includes doing what I can to avoid standing hip to hip next to the other guy while we hold our packages over the porcelain pot. For some reason or another, ninety noine percent of the time I end up with the person who just HAS to find their way next to me, despite empty rows of other treadmills. Now I know why people not only wear those Beats headphones in the gym, but also walk around in everyday life – just to avoid the inevitable nosy Ned.
Worse than talking is the amount of time people spend on these things. I am talking about walking, not running. I have witnessed people over the course of my hour and a half workout walking on a treadmill. Not running, not walking up a steep incline, not walking backwards uphill, just plain ol’ walking for the 90 minutes I spent in the gym. For all I know this malarkey continued for over 2 hours. I’ll just say what everyone else is already thinking….What the fuck? Do your due diligence. Do not speak until spoken to. Then if you’re lucky, it may just be someone who fancies a little more than a workout!