Treadmills are a necessary evil

The time has finally come when I trudge downstairs to my treadmill at 5 am instead of running outside. It saves my lungs from the freezing and often smoggy Salt Lake air, but it sure does come at a cost. One of my favorite things about running is the simplicity of it all. I run to a certain spot, then I turn around and run home. That's pretty much it. When I'm alone I just think my crazy, jumbled up thoughts and sing silently along with my ipod. Lately, I've been lucky enough to run with Maureen, and we get to talk about family, politics, the crazy economy, and anything else that might seem important at the moment.

But on the treadmill it's a different story. There are numbers blaring out at me know matter how hard I try to ignore them. Numbers relating how fast I'm running, how far I've gone, how many calories I've burned, and if I really feel like it, what my heart rate is. And even though Maureen meets me in my basement at 5:10 (I certainly wouldn't get up at that insane hour if I didn't know she would be counting on me to be there) we can't discuss much over the monotonously loud hum of the treadmill. It's kind of like eating fat free icecream - It gets the job done but isn't ANYTHING like the real thing. It's a means to an end, a necessary evil.