Thoughts I have while running on a treadmill

Unlike a lot of people, I’d rather run on a treadmill than outside. This is not to say I don’t like running outside, but there are just too many anxieties for me to make it as enjoyable as the old human hamster wheel.

Hiking can be fun though...that's me waaay down there.
Hiking can be fun though…that’s me waaay down there.

I regularly panic when crossing streets, especially intersections where I technically have the go, but a car is waiting to turn. I have to fight the urge to just curl myself into a tiny ball on the curb so they absolutely know, without a doubt, I have no intention of crossing before they do.

I also assume everyone who drives by is judging how slow I’m going, like, “Ha ha, look at that, umpa lumpa all trying to go fast, how cute, ooo, ooo, look her boobs are bouncing funny too.” This is ridiculous really, because hey, I’m actually on a motherluvin’ run, workin’ on my fitness, and they’re in a car, at least I’m running right?

Most importantly, I get lost…a lot…at any given moment in time, I have no idea where I’m at. I once was on a trail run and just sat on a log and cried because I couldn’t figure out how to get back to the beginning.

So, I’ve defaulted to the treadmill and I have no regrets. Though, the treadmill isn’t always fun either. Here are some of the following things I think about while on a treadmill.

Oh, look, there’s even a TV in front of the treadmill so I can watch the food network, mmm, nom nom.

Whoops, this one’s warped, better delay this even more by switching to the one next to it, which is also warped, so we should try like three more to find just the right one.

It makes total sense to just walk at a 2.0 to warm up, for all anyone knows, I’m on an incline and working really hard. (psst, I’m not)

QUIT LOOKING AT MY SCREEN RUNNING NEIGHBOR, ONLY GOD CAN JUDGE ME!!!

I really should’ve grabbed a towel to cover up my screen because there is no way I only went .3 miles in this amount of time.

My boobs hurt.

 Is this going to be foooreevver…20 minutes later, still only went a mile…I want cake.

I hope no one can hear my heavy breathing.

This is my general face while on the treadmill.
This is my general face while on the treadmill.

 Inevitably I start imagining an action scene from the book of Laura, to motivate myself.

To a soundtrack of Eminem, I play the hero, who must fight dozens of adversaries with a katana…and without fail, I start singing to myself…”Everybody was kung fu fighting…da da da da da…ta ta ta.” I swear I move as fast as lightning then. I kick through the air and cause lots of blunt force trauma as well as slice and dice fingers off.

I’m not really sure why, but whenever I’m running, I imagine stabbing bad guys.

Meh, I’m sure it’s fine.

The next thoughts follow, without fail.

Brain: That’s all fine and dandy Laura, we fought bad guys, but why are you still running? This imaginary scenario makes no sense. Also, why are you sweating so much?

 Me: Because dumbass, the Mexican cartel is still after us and we have to get away. Keep running.

 Brain: Well, why are you using a sword against the Mexican cartel, shouldn’t it be like a machete or something…ooo, do you remember the movie Machete, we should watch that again some time. Man, my thighs are touching, and these shorts are riding, people are gonna’ see your vag!!!! It hurts!!!

 Me: Shut up you!

 Brain: Are we done yet, uuggg, this is stupid, we’re not even going anywhere. Seriously, I wanna’ put cake in my mouth, so how about you get off this dumb thing and we can run to a cake shop instead. I mean, we already did this like a day ago and now even my butt cheeks hurt from the jiggling. You really don’t need to fit into your uniform, you can totally just buy a bigger size.

 Me: No, we agreed, we’d go so and so miles today and I’m not giving you cake, you crackhead you. What if there’s an accident one day and you have to run for help, but because YOU didn’t want to run, we’re too slow getting help and before you know it, that hitchhiker you picked up is going to die. Do you really want Harold’s death on your conscience, huh, do you?

Brain: Who the shit is Harold?????!!!

Me: Oh look, it’s been forty minutes, we can stop now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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