Hush

Little guy had Ninja class at the community center last night. So, I took the opportunity to get back on the treadmill. Been about a week.

Keep in mind that I firmly believe running is a wholly unnatural act that should occur only under three circumstances: securing a good spot at the buffet line, any time my mother in law asks for a “little” help around the house, and from security at Jennifer Gardner’s estate. Yet there I was huffing and heaving, and that’s just at the thought of it. I hadn’t turned the stupid thing on yet.

Talking on the cell phone, reading a magazine, chatting with my neighbor, are never, never activities I undertake while on the treadmill. Must focus power, grasshopper. Look straight ahead, concentrate on my breathing, and try not to die. I’ve said it before, but that’s really it.

Tuesday must have been bring your teenage daughter to the gym night. Row after row of pony tails on the machines. All of them in some form of communication with each other. There was a lot of gum snacking and cell phone chatter.

I understand that I am old and out of shape, but the least they could do is make it appear as if the treadmill required a little effort. One chick was making bubble gum strings with her finger as she was talking with the 13 year old beside her.

Look, I need the old sweaty guy cardio room, not the one for Ms. Carson’s Girl Scout Troop #11 or the 8th grade track team.