The highs and lows of parenting and real estate.

9 Soul-Killing Things About Running On the Treadmill

1. MapMyRun doesn’t congratulate you when you’re done.

How am I supposed to feel like I accomplished anything when there isn’t anyone to track my route, time and calories burned, tell me how awesome I am when I’m done and immediately notify all of my social media contacts of my physical prowess? WHAT IS THE POINT, I ask you.

2. It’s too easy to STOP.

Part of the reason I was able to run 13.1 miles at all during the one half marathon I’ve completed is because at several points during the race I weighed the pros and cons of quitting and it actually made more sense to just. fucking. finish. Even during my training runs I knew quitting 5 miles into a 9-miler would mean calling my husband to come pick me up, sitting on the side of the road getting cold until he did and then the utter humiliation and personal emotional degradation of admitting to him and myself that I was that goddamn pathetic. Those reasons were enough to keep me putting one foot in front of the other even when it was really kind of painful. On the treadmill… well let’s just say it’s one step to the left between my intended 4 miles and a super wussy 2.5 because I was sort of tired and my hip was a little achey. Not that that happened on Saturday. Or that I would tell you if it did.

3. You sound like an elephant when you start running.

It’s not good for my self-esteem. I’m just saying.

4. You hate the person next to you regardless of what she is doing or how fast.

If she’s running slower or walking, I fucking hate her guts for probably being less miserable than I am right now. If she’s running faster and/or looking cuter, well then I just fucking hate her guts because OBVIOUSLY. What a bitch. Stop being next to me, OMG.

5. It’s way sweatier than running outside.

I’m sure there’s not more actual sweating that’s happening, because it’s air-conditioned in there, but damn do I not just DRIP the whole time I’m running. Outside it evaporates or blows off me or something more attractive than just looking like it’s raining from my pits, hairline, cleavage and crotch like on the treadmill. Gross.

6. You have too much info about how fast you’re going.

MapMyRun lets me know how fast I’m running once every mile and I think that’s actually plenty for me. On the treadmill I can’t help but obsess over the number I have it set at and whether I should bump it up a few notches because I could probably work a little harder or if I’m actually feeling out of steam and should dial it down. *Beep* (Up a level.) *Beep Beep* (Down 2 levels.) *Beep* (Up a level.) *Beep* (Up one more.) *Beep Beep Beep* (Down 3 levels.)

7. It basically ruins the joy of TV watching.

I bring my iPad with me to the treadmill stocked with whatever awesome show I’m currently sucked into. I try desperately to stay involved in the characters and the plot but I always end up inevitably checking the time left and hoping the episode I’m watching is almost over because it means I can stop. WHICH IS HORRIBLE. So much creative energy and money went into the production of whatever quality TV I’m trying to absorb I feel like a total asshole for ruining it with running. Dear Walking Dead, I apologize for hoping the art you created would be over as soon as possible just so I could stop crotch-sweating all over my neighborhood gym. You’re awesome. Love, E

8. It forces you to have long internal conversations about what the guy on the elliptical directly behind you was staring at for the last 45 minutes and whether your choice of grey leggings was inappropriate. 

I mean where did that guy come from? He totally wasn’t there when I started running. Is my ass hot or gross in these pants while running? Because I feel like it could go either way. It’s really impossible to know what you look like in motion from behind. And how do I want him to feel about it? I mean I don’t want him to think I look gross, but I also don’t want him to have picked that spot just so he could stare while he ellipticized. Ew. Maybe he didn’t even care and just randomly picked that spot and I’m being completely vain to assume he had any thought about the view. God, is it even worse to have a completely unremarkable ass? I need a drink.

9. There are no bunnies to count, no coyotes to be terrified of, no sunrises to marvel at.

In short, inside there’s nothing fun and amazing to distract me from the misery of running.


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