I'm Treadmill Man, Hear the Hum
Contributed By Sandy | Published: Jan 8, 2005
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by Bob Schwartz
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I've had the luxury of running in the Rocky Mountains as the blue skies welcomed a radiant orange sunrise. I've also felt the misty water from the Oregon coast as I ran along the beach with sea lions sounding in the distance. Leaf laden paths through the woods of northern Michigan? Been there. Done that. Running on snow packed cross-country ski trails? A lovely frosty workout.
I shunned indoor running even through frigid winter winds and ice storms. I saw myself as a running purist. An elitist. I needed to breathe the fresh air, experience the natural ground beneath my feet, feel the light snow flurries upon my face.
But now, I must confess and seek natural runner absolution. A few years ago, I defected. I went to the other side. To the land of electronic exercise and artificial light.
I broke my daily rendezvous with Mother Nature and had a regular tryst with my basement. I'd become a treadmill junkie. Slave to the revolving belt, mesmerized by the flashing numbers and beeps, enchanted by the random hill profile program. I traded the sweet smell of spring for the stagnant cellar air; the great outdoors for the great four walls; the warm feel of sunshine for Oprah on my television.
You could have your golden mountain majesties. Just let me run viewing ESPN Sportscenter with my remote control giving me quick musical visits to VH1 in a climate controlled environment. Blasphemous? I said sensible. I even had immediate bathroom access. There was no more racing my bladder to the nearest gas station.
My old running buddies would implore me to join them outdoors for a leisurely seven miler; seek to entice me with the sweet aroma of clean, fresh air. I'd stick my head beyond the screen door and see the lovely autumn colors and hear the sounds of birds chirping. I wasn't swayed. I was unvavering. I was allegiant. I was an interior aficionado. The beep, beep of my electronic treadmill beckoned me with a loving call. I had to go. The sunlight was beginning to hurt my eyes. My manual speed program was waiting. I warned my running friends not to trip on uneven sidewalk as I retreated inside.
When I'd been one of the many who actually left their house for a run, I could only estimate the distance I had traveled. With my faithful treadmill keeping tabs, I could conclusively say, "Nine point six miles in total with three miles at a 6:25 pace with a 1% grade followed by two miles at a six minute pace with no grade concluding with four miles at 6:50 on a rolling level 5 grade and a cool down of .60 miles at 8:00 minute pace." At that point, my inquisitor would look at me with no real recollection of the question they'd previously asked, while I was about to give my caloric expenditure per hour and my heart rate target training zone information.
I'd previously experienced the elusive runner's high churning through a ten-mile trail run with the lovely sights of autumn decorating the landscape. However, once I became addicted to my machine, it was a magical feeling to be finishing fifteen miles on the treadmill, George Sheehan quotes decorating the walls, a refreshment stand within reach and the VCR showing Rocky knocking down Apollo Creed and earning victory. "Yo Adrian!"
I was the king of the revolving terrain, captain of the shock absorbent suspension deck, chief of the slip-resistant running surface. Just call me Treadmill Man. Hear the lovely motor's hum.
Previously, when planning a vacation, I made certain there were plenty of scenic running routes available. However, when I was hooked in the land of electronic control panels, my inquiries centered more on "Does the hotel have treadmills? Incline abilities? What's the model number? Can you send me a picture of it?" I'd have taken a stay at home vacation with treadmill access over Jamaica's beaches without it.
I recognized my race T- shirt collection had diminished as I'd missed the prior year's 10K races and marathons. However, my PR's improved. If only anyone knew. I couldn't seem to get the local running store to post my times.
I knew my obsession was going a bit too far. I was just one power outage or motor malfunction away from being forced back to the roads. I actually came up with some gradual steps to get me reintroduced to running outside again. First, I brought the treadmill and television up to the garage. I turned on a sunlamp and eventually opened the garage door to let in some of that exterior air. Ultimately, I interspersed some quick jaunts around the block within the treadmill workout as I tried to coordinate that with the commercials.
It was one step at a time to literally find the road to recovery. I found myself beginning to feel nostalgic for open space. I heard James Taylor singing, "I guess my feet know where to take me . . .down a country road." At first I thought maybe, but then I paused, wondering what the temperature and wind chill factor was outside.
Eventually, I achieved a balance with just a bit of indoor treadmill mixed into the total running regime. Hey, Monday mornings in the fall wouldn't be the same without doing a hill workout indoors, all the while watching the National Football League highlights from the day before.
Just me and the purr of my motorized buddy. Hum on!
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Excerpted from the book "I Run, Therefore I Am - Nuts!" with the permission of Human Kinetics publisher
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