Is The Road to Hell Paved with Unassembled Treadmills?

Is The Road to Hell Paved with Unsassembled Treadmills?

I was feeling guilty about my total lack of exercise and decided to remedy the situation. So I bought a new treadmill. Not a massive one, but a very nice portable one I could lift and move at will.

That was six weeks ago. Since heavy is a relative word, last week I called a neighbor to lift it out of the box. Now it sits waiting to be put together, patiently imparting new guilt for me to absorb.

It only needs a few knobs screwed on and a bit of oil so what is taking me so long?

There is no doubt if I focused on the task for five minutes it would be completed.

Five minutes. The time it takes to wonder if I should cheat on my diet or eat a salad.

Five minutes. The time it takes to make the bed and straighten my bedroom.

Five minutes. The time it takes to try and find that last Hershey Nugget lurking in the cupboard somewhere.

Still it sits. Like some kind of treadmill monster goading me into movement. Challenging me to do the right thing and take it on. Knowing and gloating over the fact I can’t seem to move.

So what’s the problem I ask myself. You enjoy the treadmill once you get on and begin walking. Watching TV makes the time fly by and when you’re done you feel a real sense of accomplishment.

I choose to focus on my good intentions when buying it. After all it was a move to get healthier and feel good.

Isn’t the road to you know where paved with those good intentions.

Yes, I don’t understand that quote either.

Are they saying the road to hell is for people who intend to do good things, but never get around to fulfilling them?

Or is it a warning that if you intend to do something and neglect it, you’re going to hell.

I have a hard time believing that’s the case.

I mean if I go to hell for failing to put the treadmill together will I find myself sitting next to Hitler?

I can’t imagine it will make much sense when he asks why I’m there and I say I procrastinated when I should have put together my treadmill. But I had good intentions.

Hard to make sense of why both of us are at the devil’s table.

So let’s focus on this treadmill guilt thing.

I bought it. I had it delivered from Amazon. I tried in vain to open the box and place it on the floor. No way I could lift it. So am I to be punished for my weakness? I can hardly lift my own purse anymore let alone a treadmill.

Would I like to just hop on over there and screw on those knobs? Sure. Do you see me moving right now? Nope, but in fairness I am writing this blog so I can’t really do two things at once.

I can see it peeking out left of my laptop. I know it’s there. It’s too big to simply ignore. Much like the thingy I bought from Amazon that attaches to your phone or remote and responds to your call. That is still waiting for its batteries to be inserted.

Uh oh. Do you think the Devil is preparing a place setting because I just confessed to that one?

Or will the treadmill be my undoing?

If I said I’d finish putting it together as soon as I write this blog, I’d be lying. There is no way I’m going to give in to my guilt. After all it isn’t hurting anyone just sitting there on the floor quietly minding its own business. At least I bought it. Right? So I’m certain eventually it will be used.

I may have a bit of a problem with the cord that is actually only a foot or so long. Who thought that was practical?

So why am I castigating myself for procrastinating? Is that a mortal sin or simply a human flaw? I don’t think the two are rated equally.

We all have our moments when something sounds good. We buy into it and run with it to the logical conclusion. Yet, is it a sin if the conclusion takes a bit longer?

At this age I find myself saying, “I’ll finish this tomorrow” a great deal.

This is completely ironic since when I was young I moved quickly, and felt there was an entire lifetime to accomplish tasks.

Now when time is so limited I seem to be incredibly cavalier with it.

It doesn’t make sense of course, even to me. Yet I don’t feel the urgency to achieve quickly as I did once.

I don’t believe it’s because we get lazy as we age. Perhaps it’s that we become more selective about how we spend our time.

Is it so bad to spend an extra five minutes finishing a crossword puzzle instead of emptying the dishwasher? To watch a podcast on YouTube before I fold the laundry?

Should I rush out of the house to the drugstore instead of finishing that great documentary on Netflix?

Is it truly procrastination or a new way of looking at how we spend our moments? All things will get done in time, but does the schedule have to be so inflexible now?

The treadmill will be finished and I will hop on eventually. The exercise will commence and will hopefully be beneficial. Yet is there truly harm in deciding what, how and when we wish to proceed when time seems so much more valuable?

Will the road to hell loom before us for deciding to read a book instead of weeding the garden?

I think not. So if the devil is listening, don’t expect me for lunch. I’m busy baking popovers.

I Feel Like a Hamster

I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels like a hamster. No, I’m not growing fur and shrinking to the size of a cute little creature. Although I am shrinking every year, but that’s another blog.

It’s because I now understand how it feels to be running on a wheel nonstop and getting nowhere.

I can’t be the only one that feels the non-stop craziness of the activities that keep our minds spinning.

Of course, I’ve learned that to help stop the flow of madness one need only turn off the news.

Yes, I do believe you can live a longer and more idyllic life in the world of “I know nothing,” than in the world of awareness.

But I digress, as usual. So how do we decide what to filter from our consciousness and what to allow in? How fast to move and absorb life’s moments?

It may be just the pleasantness of childhood memories that assures me life was much slower then. Or I may be correct in the assumption that the pace was mellower.

It seems the only running I did was when playing sports or to catch a bus.

Before our families owned a second car, it was usually our fathers that drove to work.

Our Moms found activities within walking distance in the neighborhood or were picked up by a friend who was lucky enough to have a car.

Our mode of transportation was our feet or an occasional bus ride. Mostly to downtown or a shopping center newly built nearby.

Travel was a slow and deliberate activity that happened with planning and purpose.

Even walking to the nearby drugstore to sit at the soda fountain or buy a new Archie annual was planned and executed leisurely.

The activities of life were relaxed and purposeful.

So why does it seem these days every movement is designed to raise our fitness level and get our hearts pumping?

Even shopping, which I now call retail cardio is no longer a slow and lazy stroll to view shop windows and wish to be as thin as a mannequin.

Window shopping was shared with friends or family, many times after a relaxing lunch or dinner.

There was purpose and enjoyment to our movement, not simply to log steps on our pedometers.

So, you’re thinking, what’s your problem? At your age there is no need to rush or run through life any longer. You can definitely slow your roll now. Nope, see that’s the irony. It’s not about having the time to take a breath, it’s about the ability.

The pace of life we ultimately grew into and adopted has now become part of our psyche. We no longer just automatically stroll, or move like determined turtles.

We are now programmed to be the hare in our race.

There is a certain amount of guilt inherent in wasting time. Not making the most of every second seems like squandering our lives.

Okay, so yes, one can disguise idleness by calling it meditation. The moments spent in relaxing and listening to our breath reassures us we are using time wisely for health reasons.

Very few of my friends don’t readily admit time is flying by at a faster pace now. The years seem to move ahead at lightning speed.

But of course we know this isn’t the case. The earth still needs 365 days and one extra on leap year to complete a rotation.

So why do we believe time is darting by?

Is it really so fast and spinning like a top instead of moving like a snail?

Why can we no longer just sit and relax while basking in the nothingness of stillness?
Do the years seem to move quicker because there are less of them now? Where once we saw a never-ending supply of time before us, now we see that dreaded stop sign?

So perhaps we move faster to capture all the life we can, gobbling up moments like the last vestiges of crumbs off a yummy chocolate cake.

I imagine there is a rhyme and reason to our pace, but I wonder if it’s not about us at all.

Perhaps we are merely victims of a culture shift so dramatic we never saw the impact it might have on our lives.

It ingrained itself into our lifestyle like the Internet on steroids.

Is it our responsibility to take back our leisure? To create slow and meaningful moments of quiet once more?

And of course we must ask ourselves, is it even possible?

I talk to friends all the time that complain they are not busy enough. They need more to do. We have been told we will live longer if we stay busy and active.

So we rush around looking to fill our days and move quickly to avoid any consequences relaxation might bring.

Yet isn’t the stress of constantly seeking activity and movement bad for our health? Is there a way to find that perfect balance between strolling and dashing through life? Perhaps it’s just as simple as the fact keeping busy avoids thinking about time passing?

I have no idea. But I am not going to feel guilty if I choose to stay at home and watch a movie, read a book or try a new recipe. I think I often forget that no moment of one’s life is ever wasted if we are living it the way we choose. Even if it’s not at seventy miles an hour.

Curses Foiled Again

My body and I have always had a love/hate relationship. Especially when it comes to food and exercise. In other words, any attempt on my part to “do” healthy was met with contempt and aggression. And a lot of swearing, mostly by my body.

I know most people are thinking, I know she’s nuts, but to separate herself from her body, do you think she’s completely lost it?

Probably. And if you look at the world around us now, I believe it’s justified. But as usual I digress so back to gressing.

It seems that in all the years we’ve been together my body and I have never been able to have a Zen moment. To find a common ground for understanding, love and peace. Lord, I sound like the old hippy in me has returned.

It’s just so unfortunate that two entities living in such close proximity never got along.

No matter what the discussion an argument ensued.

Me: That Oreo cookie looks so good, but oh well. I can’t eat it I’m on a diet.

My Body: Like I care? Shove it in your mouth right now sister and add six more to the mix.

Me: No way I haven’t broken my diet and I won’t.

My Body: I will hurt you and I will hurt you bad if there is not an Oreo in my mouth in two seconds.

Me: Do not threaten I’m the boss here.

OUCH! A sudden sharp pain in my head.

Me: Stop it!

Another pain.

My Body: Want more? Cause I can keep going like this all day until I get that cookie.

Six Oreos later I heard the laugh inside my head of a demented clown.

Don’t even start me on the battles I fought and pain I felt when I even tried to exercise. I heard more obscenity than when I try to zip my skinny jeans.

So how is it so easy for your body to win and how is it so much easier now that I’m older?

Isn’t my body aging along with me? Or is it still young and feisty from winning all the time?

Perhaps it has a desire for world domination. Maybe my body is power hungry? Well, we definitely know it is always hungry.

So in an effort to keep the peace, I’ve decided to just give in. Yep, if my body wants to run the world, go for it.

If my body wants Oreos or a cheeseburger, I say hip hip hurray! No arguments, no fighting, just fill my mouth with all the yummy food I have felt guilty about eating and fought to resist. Fill my hand with something grand!

But then suddenly something strange happened. When I stopped resisting, my body became more cooperative. We were getting along much better. No pains, no threats, no swearing. It was as if the Dali Lama took over my circulatory system.

Never one to accept success gracefully, I began to wonder what was going on? I was worried that my body was too broken down to fight. Or perhaps it was up to no good. A ploy to lure me into a state of confusion? Either way I had to find out.

All the peace and quiet was making me antsy. I tried to be antagonistic. I threw away a whole bag of Oreos and still nothing. No response, no demands. It was as if my body had lost its voice. It certainly was fueled by enough chocolate and carbs so what could be happening?

Oh it was up to something, but what?

Like all great debaters every conversation is an opportunity to disagree. So as soon as I gave in, my body opted out.

What no fight left in ya, huh? Scared of me I teased? I finally wore you down. Yet, like everyone who has done perpetual battle, the victory is short lived. No more mountains to climb, no more battles to fight, no more fun licking the middle out of an Oreo?

I felt a certain sadness at the diminished spunkiness of my former nemesis. Like seeing your old car die before your eyes. All the years it drove you where you needed to go and now suddenly kaput. Sad really.

I tried to perk it up a bit.

Oh boy, oh boy that Black Forest Cake looks yummy, but I shouldn’t have any.

Hmmm, silence.

Wow! A whole new bag of M&Ms and only me to munch on them. But I do have to get into that new blouse so none for me.

Crickets.

I smell pizza so I have to leave the room.

Death.

Now I’m really concerned. I’m carbo loading like a prize fighter and not even gaining any weight.

This is quite disconcerting. I’m used to walking by a bakery, smelling the bread and gaining two pounds.

Wake up I can’t stand anymore, I plead. I’ll eat everything you want, just fight with me. I implore you. I can’t enjoy anything unless you battle me over every morsel.

I was becoming depressed so I did what I always do when the corners of my mouth curve downward. I ate. And I continued eating until I gained five pounds.
I jumped off the scale in a state of gloom, ran for the kitchen and baked brownies. When I burned my tongue eating a forkful right out of the oven, I heard a strange noise.

A smug laugh emanating from somewhere inside me. I dropped the fork and realized I’d been played.

Curses, foiled again.

I hung my head and threw in the dish towel. I knew I’d lost the war.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: