On a treadmill is an activity I scorned ever to do. Eric, despite much time with them, hates the revolving black belt. Even Forrest Gump ran in the great outdoors, breaking all precautionary laws of protected health as embodied in his leg braces. If he wasn't running for his life, he ran for his broken heart.
There's something about the soothing whir of the machine, the flash pot show of Country Music TV on the overhead screen, the rhythmic pounding of the other joggers, all of which creates a safe haven for meditation. Running becomes a musical score, druming time with the feet, fluted patterns of breath, and the harp like strumming of other voices in one's head.
5 comments:
And then the cacophany of my pounding heart and my feelings of dizziness crash through the symphony and I realize the score has changed and I am now wheezing to something closer to Mega-Death.
Meladrama and romanticism aside, I prefer running the treadmill to anything else. I know how far I've gone and can belittle my protests into proper submission. And sometimes, I can hear the rhythm of another runner and it makes mine fall into place.
Furthermore, I ran 2 miles today!!! On a tread-mill of course :-)
it's so much easier (and funner:) to run on the 'mill (the mill and i have a very intimate relationship). not to mention it's much easier on the ol' knees...it's the only way i run. unfortunately i "ran" my personal treadmill into the grave, so i'm feeling mucho-inconvenienced and longing for my new gym. :(
Bekah, I'm glad I'm not alone in the Mill affair!
~K.
Ohrah, Kat! now I've got to go further.ugh.grunt.
~K.
Post a Comment