why i don’t run
June 9, 2008
I few years ago, I wrote a review of three especially spastic moments in my life. A couple of them were doozies, and resulted in scars I still have, both emotional and physical.
I left off the treadmill incident, I’m not sure why, maybe because running seems like such a natural physical activity, something everybody should be able to do, especially someone who pretends to do so many other physical, even athletic things. But alas.
I bought Kim a treadmill so she could run on really cold and rainy days without going to the gym. We kept it in the family room of our newly finished basement in Pleasant Grove, because we had a TV in the corner, and because it seems treadmills belong in basements.
To this point, I had never used a treadmill, mostly because I hate running, and partly because I’m afraid of heavy machinery. But I feared getting fat more, and so one night, while Kim worked on a lecture in the next room, I braved the treadmill.
Everything was going swimmingly, for about 10 minutes or so, until I realized I had forgotten to open the window. I didn’t want to interrupt my run, so I figured I would just remove my shirt, since, hey, there’s nobody around to see me running shirtless except Kim, and she was busy in the next room, and plus, she was already married to me, what, she’s gonna leave me just because I don’t look good running shirtless on a treadmill?
So I kept jogging along, and pulled my shirt over my head, tossed it aside, and kept running.
Actually, I guess what happened is that I pulled my shirt up to my head, somehow got it stuck on my chin, blinded myself, with my arm caught around my ear, flailed along for a few seconds, and stepped on the edge of the treadmill.
With my right foot now stationary on the edge of the treadmill, my left foot/leg quickly disappeared behind me, but didn’t exactly let go of me. I spun around, fell onto the treadmill, and got shot right off the back. With my shirt still caught with at least one arm up over my head. Right into the corner of the wall, which, to my knowledge, still bears the divot from my shin.
The worst part is that there wasn’t much room between the treadmill and the wall behind it, so even though MOST of me was off the back of the treadmill, not ALL of me was. And that part still on the treadmill was getting a terrible rash from being rubbed at high speed.
I managed to get to my feet, get my shirt all the way off, and stagger into the middle of the room, just as Kim came dashing in from the next room. And like that grandmother who makes her grandson new mittens and tells him, when he returns, she will first check if he is safe and sound, and then check if he still has both his mittens, Kim first checked to see if I was alive, and then fell to the floor, laughing hysterically, weeping, convulsing. You know, like that kindly grandmother.
Running is stupid.
Last night about midnight, I got up to go to the bathroom, went in to give my 10 year old’s blankets a “whoosh,” and then headed downstairs for a cookie. With about 4 steps to go, I stepped on a pile of clothes left on the stairs, which zipped out from underneath me like a banana peel, and as I fell, I grabbed for the railing, getting my hand stuck and almost jerking my arm out of my shoulder socket, and slid to the bottom of the stairs.
This morning, Maddy asked Kim what had happened to the rest of the cookies, and when Kim told Maddy what had happened, Maddy said “We REALLY need to install cameras in this house, we would make a FORTUNE!”