My Minneapolis Summer: Running in Place

While I could write several blogposts on how I’m homesick and in dire need of attention, hugs, chocolate chip cookies, and chex mix, I’m also extremely, extremely homesick for….my treadmill.

 

My treadmill and I have a very dramatic relationship. Technically speaking, I hate it. It stands for early morning workouts before class, working out on an empty stomach (I challenge you to find a worse feeling than working out when your blood sugar levels are at alarmingly low levels), running after work or exams, when all I want to do is curl up and watch The Real Housewives of New Jersey, and having to skip this or that event becauseI need to work out (second to running on an empty stomach, it’s a gym goer’s secret to never skip a workout–it might feel good to not run today, but it’ll hurt twice as much tomorrow. I can say this as someone who used to often skip workouts).

 

At school, I have “My Treadmill.” I belong to a 24/7 fitness center, which is an investment an old boyfriend told me was worthwile because I tend to run when I’m stressed, angry, frustrated, happy, sad, or ambivalent. As those are about the entire range of human emotions, you can probably figure out that I get a lot of use out of my membership. I actually strongly dislike my gym–it’s full of guys that spend too much time pumping iron, personal trainers attempting to sell their services (um, no. I actually have NO interestin 4:30 am bootcamps to work on my biceps, thanks), and it’s fairly expensive for the area, so a lot of soristitutes with their cell phones tend to overtake the ellipitcals (which is fine, because as all runners/joggers know, the elliptical is for pansies–unless you’re on the elliptical because you’re a hardcore injured runner–in that case, I revoke your pansie title). I would probably give up my membership if it wasn’t for My Treadmill.

 

My Treadmill sits in the second row of treadmills, facing the plastic plasma television screens. There is a fan to the right of her, which is an extra little perk. She sits between two television. This is key because on Thursday nights, The Office and Grey’s Anatomy are on the same time. Usually I’d have to skip one, but because of My Treadmill’s perfectly designed location (and the fact that it’s Thirsty Thursday, so the gym is empty), I can usually put on both. The ultimate Team Pam and Meredith’s dream. Somedays, My Treadmill kicks my ass. And somedays, I kick My Treadmill’s ass.

 

The saddest days though, are the days that someone else is on My Treadmill. It’s not that I believe it’s really “mine,” per se. But, I mean, she kind of is. I feel a little betrayed that she works so miraciously for someone else, almost as if she’s cheating on our near perfect relationship. But, I can adjust, I can hop on her neighbor for the day and jog for a while. But, I have been known to beeline for her the minute the enemy finishes with her. She’s mine, okay? Get your own.

 

In my home-home in DeWitt, I have an indusrial type treadmill. She’s not quite as awesome as My Treadmill, but she’s adequte and seems to get the job done, so I can complain. She has some weird buttons you have to push though, and she’s really high up, almost as if she’s on a platform. I’m not a fan of heights in general, and platforms don’t really do it for me. If I wanted to feel like a stripper, I’d go to Striperoibcs, on M.A.C.

 

Here in Minneapolis, it is HOT out, baby. I try and try to set my alarm for 5:30 to go running before work, but so far, as they say in Peru: “no bueno.” That means no good. It’s just not working. I do get into work mighty early so I can duck out early, but have you gone running at 4 pm in the summer in Minnesota? I literally think I sweat half of my body weight off. It’s hard to breath, the air is so thick with humidity. Don’t even get me started on the fact that I have a farmer’s tan on my legs from my running shorts. And the formation of an armband tan line on my upper right arm, where I stick my keys and my iPhone. I dread the run all day long, it’s so hard and it’s so hot.

 

So why not run later at night? Well, little grasshopper with your cute little questions: it’s dangerous in Minneapolis at night. Ask my mom, she’s probably got a boatload of articles saved on her desktop she’s just dying to send me about joggers being stabbed and their cool iPhone armbands being stolen. Also, I suffer from work-related hunger. I’m starving when I get home, so I eat a huge dinner. I don’t think my body has the energy to digest a mini-thanksgiving dinner and go running afterwards. I’m a person, you know? Not a machine.

 

Furthermore, I miss working out in front of a TV. I like listening to my own thoughts and I can come up with some pretty entertaining daydreams to occupy me for a while, but I miss flipping on the boob tube and watching trashy tv, using the my necessesary exercise as an excuse. I’m tired of listening to Ira Glass ramble on about this American Life (yes we get it, life is hard. Next topic, debbie downer) and Pandora isn’t always right on about what I’m in the mood to listen to (In particular, I didn’t want to run to the Lion King’s Circle of Life” just because I didn’t give a thumbs down to Miley Cyrus. Have you tried running to

“The Circle of Life?” Not only is it depressing and opens a ton of psychological doors, it has no beat. It’s like running to Bach. I’ll save the classical music for when I’m trying to feel cultured, mmk?)

 

Today, I decided to be proactive and search for a place where maybe I could pay a few bucks and someone would let me borrow their treadmill for an hour or so. Just on days when it’s so hot, I have true concerns about thong sweat when I’m in my office seat (too much information?) I digress. To get a gym membership in Minneapolis for two months is outrageous. There’s start up costs, closing costs, membership fees, and more. I am far too thrifty (and loyal to My Treadmill) to pay to run, when there’s sidewalks and trails galore outside my doorstep. If times get desperate, I may have to ask the local Dick’s Sporting Goods if they mind me taking a run on their samples, but for now, I think I’ll have to suck it up, lather on sunscreen, hydrate, and hope that in an hour, all the pain I’ll put myself through will be a mere, sad memory.

 

In the meantime, if you’re driving down Grand River and happen to see an empty treadmill through the storefront window where I spend my free time, let me know. I wouldn’t be surprised if My Treadmill is out of order, because it probably misses me as much as I miss it. Don’t worry, Treadmill! I’ll be back in 55 days and we have an entire school year together. Until, of course, I graduate and my new puppy and my new treadmill move away. But that’s a concern for a different day.