in which I take back everything bad I ever said about the treadmill

It’s been annoyingly windy all week.

Don’t ask me how I can tolerate running in sub-freezing temperatures all winter, but the minute it gets slightly breezy I whine and cry like a baby.

So lately a lot of my runs have been looking like this:

Exhibit A: in the interest of not showing you the names of all the streets in my neighborhood, I created this reenactment of Tuesday's run in which, instead of my usual out-and-back, I did everything possible to keep from having to run north. It worked, sort of. Also I got chased for half a block by a horrible dachshund barking its face off. Those little beasts are right up there with chihuahuas on my list of world's most worthless dogs.

Wind? Makes me want to cry. And I can see people standing in their yards (they hatin’) wondering why that chubby girl is running so slow and I wanna yell “40 MPH GUSTS, BRO!”

I had a slight respite on Thursday, when I ran four miles in Eagle Creek in unbelievably calm, warm conditions; yesterday I screwed off my run completely (I’ll get to my excuse in a moment); and today I ran eight miles in what I’ve deemed a very mild hurricane.

So yeah, I would get down on my knees and kiss a treadmill’s squishy rubber track right about now.

I don’t ask for much.

Anyway, let’s rewind to Friday night. More wind. I happen to casually glance outside to see the majority of our Bradford Pear is no longer vertical and instead, laying in the grass at angle that appears to have just barely missed the house.

You might remember we already lost part of this tree last during Apocalypse 2010 (no relationship to Apocalypse ’81).

Well, now some more of it is gone. So instead of running yesterday, I hefted piles of wood while my husband took a chainsaw to the fallen tree. (I begged him to wear a hockey mask but he refused.) We did that until it started raining.

Today, we’ll finish what’s left and then try to come up with some way to secure the rest of the tree, which is now leaning precariously toward the house and might not stand up to another storm…

OH OH OH AND RE: BOSTON?

This is important: I have no opinion.

But I always welcome any opportunity to stalk people online, so any of you who are running Monday, TELL ME YOUR BIB NUMBER!

And for the love of vodka, don’t forget to enter Angry Runner’s GIVE IT AWAY GIVE IT AWAY GIVE IT AWAY GIVEAWAY. You only have until Tuesday, April 19th at 11:59 PM EST. It’s probably the most important thing you will do all week.

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7 thoughts on “in which I take back everything bad I ever said about the treadmill

  1. The only time I was ever bitten by a dog during a run was when I was the victim of a stealth attack by a dachshund that lived at a dilapidated house-barn combo, a real rural NH special. I didn’t hear the fucker coming until the last second, toes clicking madly on asphalt (he was sprinting flat-out to match my 6:40 pace or whatever), and right as I turned the “dog” launched itself at my foot, sank its teeth into the heel of my shoe, actually hung on for a comical step or two (thump! thump!) and then did a cowardly 180 and sprinted back into its yard. The bite actually missed skin and tissue altogether and only hit shoe material, but I was startled and pissed enough to react by yelling and heaving a rock at the bastard as he skittered around the corner of the barn. The rock actually punched through the side of the structure, which was no more than 180 years old, and for a giddy moment I stood frozen in the half-assed expectation that the whole barn would collapse in an awesome chain reaction, a la “The Money Pit.” But it didn’t. That was 20 years ago and that fucking cur may well still be alive along with the then-80-year-old alcoholic who also lived there and for unclear reasons liked to berate me as I ran by.

    • Yeah, the rest would just break off eventually. We have to get someone over the pull the stump out and then we’ll put in another tree – something sturdier that won’t break every time there’s a storm. The bradford pears are so pretty, but they’re known for that.

  2. Isn’t that one of those trees that smells like jizz? They’re all over the place here and running down a street lined with them is like taking a hot load to the face.

  3. i hate wind. i think i would rather almost any other weather condition. at least if it’s hot, you can take off clothes/eat a popsicle and if it’s cold, you can bundle up and don running tights/mittens. but wind just sucks.

    running on a treadmill > getting killed by a flying tree branch

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