The Story Of A Treadmill

When you spend copious amounts of time in restaurants and gyms during the age of Covid19 there are people out there who will let you know they are disappointed in your behavior.

They’ll say things like, “I am not going to have dinner with you or spend time with you at all because you have done what you were not supposed to do.”

In response you may say “you have refused to go to dinner with me or spend any time alone so what is the difference” and then they’ll sputter and say you are a major pain and they don’t know what to do with you.

So you might say something like, “hey man or  hey woman, I am not really doing either of those things. My damn gym closed and I am guilty of trying to get your attention by yanking on your pony tail/leg or some such thing.”

They might ask if there are better ways to get their attention and you can say “yes, but the R-rated stuff isn’t supposed to be on the blog.

That will either get a roar you don’t want or an eye roll that means you might not be in huge trouble.

Anyhoo, since my damn gym closed and quarantine has made me into a 685 pound monster who can’t get his own reality television show I decided something must be done.

The Story Of A Treadmill

I decided a short while ago that I had to secure more gym equipment for the homestead so that in addition to lifting I would be able to guarantee a better cardio workout.

So I am about 98% certain a treadmill will come home to live with me so that I may ride it daily.

I am committed to doing battle with Father Time and have promised to punch that motherfucker in the mouth, throat and nose.

Hell, I may even kick him in the kneecap and then follow up with another punch to the head, but you better believe I’ll be holding a roll of quarters in my fist.

The younger Mr. Wilner told me he expects to see a unit here soon because “you are not going to let this one go are you dad.”

I laughed and said “nope. There some things to compromise upon and others that I cannot. This is one of them. Too damn important. It is a physical and mental health issue.”

There is a picture in my head of what I want to accomplish that is more than just a vague image. It is well defined and possible, albeit difficult.

But nothing worthwhile comes easy so might as well go after something that has as much of an upside as this one does.

You Ought To Take My Hand

I am tempted to tell you the story of “you ought to take my damn hand” or “the greatest kiss you ever had and how I drank a bottle of ketchup.”

But hey Buckmaster, if you are just a regular Sheila you won’t get the references regardless of whether I take you to a bar in Deep Ellum for a frank conversation.

Given that I haven’t felt right in a week I am not surprised by my edgy and sometimes insouciant disposition. I figure it is a combination of stress and frustration plus a double dose of something else.

Fortunately I got a pocketful of grit to go along with my bad attitude and ridiculous rambling upon these pages.

So within a relatively short period of time there ought to be a new treadmill or something equivalent here and I’ll increase my caloric expenditure which will be of assistance with fixing my diet.

That is always how it works with me, get a little kickstart and momentum and I am pretty good about keeping it up.

It is not to say I haven’t been getting out to do some roadwork because I have but this will make it easier. Won’t worry about the weather, digestive distress issues or random people trying to cough on me.

And with that I am out of here, JW has left the building.