fireThere is a backstory here, but I will make it brief so you can understand I am not so much super into fitness, as super into feeling better and more active. I was chronically ill after the birth of my daughter for 3 plus years, it has mostly been resolved. Getting my steps and exercise today helps me cope and stay sane. Here endeth the backstory.

It all began when my treadmill started acting wonky.  By wonky, I mean it variated speed out of the blue and caused me to trip and exclaim expletives many, many times. I thought I would follow the old adage that ostriches use, and was sure it would magically fix itself if I proverbially buried my head.  It did not

I spent an extraordinarily long time learning the intricate bullshit phone systems of Sears’ Warranty Department (and memorizing voices of outsourced operators- “Marie” is fine by the way) . Three hours of real time later, I get the parts ordered and have a scheduled time of 3 weeks from now for treadmill fixin’. I hang up and put the toddler to bed that had been screaming through the entirety of all these fun phone endeavors.

The treadmill is still technically running (sometimes) and it smells a little bit like burning plastic but I need to get my exercise somehow, and as I currently reside on the surface of the sun,  going outside is not an option.  I repeat this fun bucking bronco activity over the next few days, until Hubband brings a fire extinguisher and sets it on my desk while looking at me sternly.   I smile sheepishly and keep striding.

The next day he takes our daughter to Fry’s to get groceries and comes home. He opens the door downstairs (my treadmill is upstairs) and runs upstairs yelling at me that the whole house smells and this is ridiculous and I am going to electrocute myself or burn the house down. I tried to focus on him but my whole head was spinning and he looked sort of shimmery through the burning plastic fog in my office. Just as he was about to physically remove me, the treadmill made a weird popping noise and shut down for good.

When the technician arrived on the special day he asked me how often we lubricated the belt. I looked at him in surprise and told him no one had ever mentioned that and I had no idea. He looked at me and his eyes widened larger than I have ever seen and he said, “not even once?” Apparently, you are supposed to do it four times a year and we hadn’t done it in 2 plus years of owning it. Whoops.

I broke my treadmill completely, almost asphyxiated, and our entire house smelled like burning plastic for what will be (I assume) days.