Runner's Purgatory

Having an exercise addiction sucks.  The suck ratio multiplies exponentially when injured.  Most normal people would embrace the time off the hamster wheel and proudly show off the pounds gained while they continue to squeeze into their now useless Lulumon pants.  (I've gained 6 pounds by the way.)  But everywhere I look, I am assaulted with beautiful images of happy people frolicking through the gorgeous countryside.  Why is Fall so much more beautiful this year than ever before?  Because I can't run.  That's why.  It taunts me as I gaze longingly from the window of my recreation center as I hammer aimlessly at the cumbersome pedals of my elliptical. 

Ellipticals are purgatory.  They are the closest thing to mimicking what running actually looks and feels like without applying the real pressure to your joints.  I lunge my foot downwards and around in aimless circles pretending I am somewhere else.  Anywhere else but here, listening to the Treadmill Kicker snorting away, throwing his sweat all over my elbow.  Somehow he manages to kick the front cover of the belt drive every time he takes a step.  How does he not notice that?  It jolts him awkwardly and punches everyone's ears from across the room.  I've starred at him at least 10 times and I've been here exactly 3 minutes, 8 calories. 

I can't ignore the impulse.  I need to compete, to feel the blood pulsing through my brain, sweat seeping from my dry pores.  I pick an easy target.  Sorry lady, you might be 85, but that level 2 resistance won't hold up today.  You are going to loose.  Elliptical victory is mine.

Somehow the flat screen positioned in front of my machine is stuck on cartoons.  I try not to watch.  How ridiculous, a 30-year-old injured woman finding delight in the Sprout Network, but I can't look away.  Chica's singing and dancing are so flamboyant, my iPod Shuffle easily fills in the gaps.  My elderly competitor enjoys the ease of a woman's cooking magazine.  Highlighter in hand, she is armed to multitask, preparing for a Fit-Family Thanksgiving.  How does she do that?  I can't read when I bounce.  Am I bouncing too much?  Maybe that is my problem.  No, that's not my problem.  That is Treadmill Kicker's problem.  He ricochets, clashing violently with the machine.  At some point he will over-kick and things will deteriorate.  Chica pulls me back.  Oh, isn't that cute?  She is wearing a squirrel costume!  A chicken pretending to be a squirrel, nope this will never get old.

Click here if you want to dress Chica...

To my right are huge plate glass windows, 50 feet high and over 40 feet wide.  Straight ahead are men pumping iron admiring their pulsing flesh.  I can see myself in the mirror from afar but I look away.  I never see myself when I run outside, unless I steal a glance in the windows of a parked car or store front.  That's okay though, everyone does that.  I am only checking my form...  I try to pretend to be somewhere else, somewhere far away from the new guy that took residence on the rowing machine and thinks perpetual grunting creates power.  I direct my attention back towards the windows.  The wind rustles the remaining leaves on the trees and I wish I had wind in my hair instead of a fan that is never on. 

Thirty minutes later my competitor put up a good fight.  She circled 8 recipes, burned 127 calories and lasted 20 minutes.  I on the other hand, put in the extra ten minutes, burned 311 calories, and watched Chica transform from a squirrel to a mountain lion. 


~Roadburner

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