It's not you, treadmill, it's me. Well, okay, it's mostly you. Don't try to blame this on Mike: yes, he taught me how to run outside. But I was crying out for help. Can't you see that?
I think I've grown as a person. You just don't challenge me anymore. I know that whenever I just don't feel like trying hard, you'll be there waiting. And that's not a good thing.
Sure, we had some good times. Some great times: I'll never forget that 6:40 "Helen." But you and I both know it's illegitimate, right? I mean, it's not the same as wearing rollerblades….but kinda.
No, this isn't about how you look. You're mature. Lots of guys love counting miles instead of kilometres. You ever hear of this John Santana guy? Total Imperial System kink. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Plus – PLUS – now my wife LIKES running. And my five-year-old: I'm doing a cross-country race WITH her this weekend, treadmill! You just can't replace that. What about my two-year-old? Bad news, treadmill: he's using you. If you didn't have handlebars to swing on, or didn't shoot his toy motorcycles across the room, he wouldn't be seen anywhere near you. Hey, it had to be said.
Yes, I remember every sweaty promise I ever made, right at 'that' moment…begging for you to keep going faster, to let me just finish without dying…..but that was PillowDeck(TM) talk, baby! I mean, don't be so naive! Everybody does that.
You know what, treadmill? Using you this way….it's like using a Vibro-Platform, or whatever they're called. Sure, it's fun and all, but it's just not working out.
Maybe I'll call you next winter. But if I happen to flop on you in the middle of the summer, disoriented after some WOD, you can't take it as a long-term commitment. And please don't make me another mixed tape.