The Return of the Treadmill

By Laura Moncur @ 5:00 am — Filed under:

“I’ve been thinking that maybe I’ll condense my two bookshelves. Do you think the treadmill would fit right here.”

Mike indicated the corner of his office that I had coveted for the treadmill when we moved in last July. I knew for a fact that the treadmill would fit there because I had measured it back then. It was a snug fit, but the tread would fold down perfectly and the ceiling was just tall enough for Mike on the highest incline. I was sure of it because I had wanted it so badly.

“Yeah. I know for a fact it will fit there, but do you really want to lose a bookcase?”

“A lot of the space is wasted or could be somewhere else. I think I could condense everything down to one bookcase and then put that bookcase in storage and put the treadmill there.”

“Are you sure? You seemed so against it before.”

“I hate the gym. I miss the treadmill.”

My sentiments were echoed word for word. Ever since the Bosu Incident, the gym has felt less like a playground for adults and more like a playground for mean little bullies. I forced myself to go. I exercised at home. I ran outside. I rode my bike. I played Dance Dance Revolution on the Xbox. I played with my Bosu Ball at home. I found myself dreading the gym and missing my treadmill that was hiding in storage.

“Ok, well, if you want the treadmill back, we can do that. Here, let me help you organize this bookshelf.”

I started to reach for his books and toys. I started to pull the four large books of condensed music CDs.

“These can go downstairs. Now that we’ve ripped them all, we don’t really need to access them regularly.”

Mike stopped me, “No. I don’t want to start that project right now. Cory is going to be here tomorrow. I don’t want to deal with that while he’s here. Let’s just wait until he leaves.”

“Cory could help us move the treadmill.”

“No, let’s wait until he goes home.”

So, I waited. Cory visited and we enjoyed having him stay here, but the day he left, we rented a U-Haul, moved the bookshelf to storage and brought home the treadmill. Sadly, something happened to the treadmill in the move last July and it wasn’t working when we brought it home. After a half hour call to NordicTrack, my part was ordered and it arrived last Saturday. Mike had it replaced and working by the time I got home Saturday at lunchtime. I was happy to be the first person to play on it once we had it situated in the spot where the bookcase used to be.

When we moved from our 3500 square foot house in West Jordan to this 900 square foot house in Sugarhouse, we had to make choices. What was more important, my computer or my piano? I had to make that decision. I observed the facts. I sat and wrote at my computer every day and I only played my piano at Christmas. In fact, the last Christmas we spent in the West Jordan house, I didn’t even play. I ended up finding a family with a little girl who wanted to take piano lessons and sold the piano. It was a choice I had to make. I could have put the treadmill where my computer sits today, but the computer had precedence.

Mike had to make choices too. What was more important? Having all of his books nearby or having a treadmill? Since he went from a huge office to a tiny room at the back of the house, he decided that the bookcases were more important. After a year of struggling with going to the gym, though, he decided that he’d rather have the treadmill.

I keep suppressing the thought that he did it for me. He has had a front row seat on the Bosu Incident and all my struggles with the gym. He insists that going to the gym is doubly hard for him because he has to overcome the fear of exercise and the fear of people. I have no fear of exercising. I’m just scared of those skinny bitches that point at me when I’m just doing the best that I can do. That has been enough for me to keep running up to Sugarhouse Park or playing DDR instead of going to the gym. I can only imagine how hard it has been for him. Maybe he didn’t do it for me. Either way, I’m just so glad to have my treadmill back.


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