Don’t tread(mill) on me

It’s been nearly 2 1/2 weeks since we’ve gotten our treadmill and endured an epic battle getting the 200-lb. thing out of the truck, avoiding the front of the ice-covered steps in favor of going up the side of them (Me: “I can’t do this because I can’t lift my leg high enough because the box is in the way and too heavy to lift higher.” Jason: “Just do it!” Me: “It. Is. Impossible, Dammit!”) and down 13 steps while Jason had the weight of the box to lean against his chest while I was hunched forward trying to keep the box from slipping down the stairs and crushing him (Me: “We should switch places. I can’t hold onto it like this. There’s no handles.” Jason: “No. Just lift it.” Me: “What if we just opened the box upstairs and brought the parts downstairs?” [Ed. note: I still do not understand why this fantastic idea was not greeted with enthusiasm] Jason: “No. Just do it!” Me: “There. Is. NOTHING. To. Hold. Onto!!!” Repeat for 30 minutes).

But we finally got it downstairs and assembled, and we’ve been using it ever since and recording our progress on a spreadsheet. We’re both eager to run and excited about getting fit, and I’ve been peppering Jason with questions about his approach to running: What music do you listen to? What do you think about? Do you try to run for a certain time or distance? How can you run for so long without stopping? Are you a robot? Etc., etc.

I don’t think I’ll ever have the runner mentality where I’ll be running and all of a sudden, whoops, 15 miles just flew by without my noticing, you know? The whole time I am running, I am keenly aware that I am running. My legs, arms and lungs are all quite aware, thank you, and my hair capitalizes on the opportunity to find the best way to plaster itself into my eyeballs.

The first time I ran, I looked at the display the whole time and stopped at a pre-determined time, not because my body actually felt tired. So since then, I’ve been zoning out, trying not to think about anything at all, and especially not thinking about how much time has elapsed, or how I’ll make a deal that I can walk once I reach a mile, or how I can slow down once a song is over. I’m focusing on my body instead. How my legs sometimes burn, how my breathing feels (I can definitely tell when I don’t use my inhaler since I have a 5-minute coughing fit afterwards), how my speed increases if Andrew W.K. or Rob Zombie are part of my playlist.

I’m no longer noticing how Shorty sometimes comes over and almost touches his nose to the moving belt; how Sunny looks prepared to leap onto the treadmill display, fall onto the moving belt and get shot into the wall, leaving behind a cartoon, cat-shaped hole; or how my disembodied, bouncing head must look through the basement window to the neighbors.

All I’m thinking about is how awesome it’s going to feel when I’m done and can record my latest progress. And how each time I get better and better.