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My introduction to running on treadmills was watching The Jetsons. Poor George, I thought,
always unable to keep his frisky dog Astro from bounding off the treadmill and dragging him
down. Childhood memories are long-lasting and potent.
Squishy-Sounding Shoes and Wet Socks
To this day, whenever I use a treadmill, I immediately and momentarily flash onto
beleaguered George. Perhaps it’s instinctual, but before I punch up the tempo on the speed
panel, I always make sure to have a visual connection to the large red stop button. It’s
the same reaction I have when boarding an airplane and eyeball where the exit doors are
located (as if I am going to be the one to yank the handle down).
Treadmills have a stationary place in our participatory sports universe. I use them
occasionally, and only when it’s been raining nonstop for a week or so, which in Northern
California is a fact of life during our winters. I am not a fan of running in the rain.
It’s okay to get wet from your own sweat, but getting soaked from without seems like a
case of double jeopardy. It leads to colds, sniffles, flu, squishy-sounding shoes and wet
socks. A light mist is okay to run in, but slashing sheets of rain will make me seek out
the treadmill at the local health club.
Jack London, I’m Not
When I lived in Boulder, Colorado, I loved to run outdoors when it was snowing. So you
might say that I like my rain on the rocks, shaken or stirred. There’s an X-masy feeling
about running while snow flakes shower you with their gentle, fairy-like touch. It’s
cleansing experience that adds to the purity of your run. Blizzard-like conditions are a
different matter with needle-like projectiles practically blinding you. When the snow
really blew, I wisely stayed indoors. Jack London, I’m not.
I tried snowshoeing a few times when the snow got really deep. It’s a wonderfully strenuous
aerobic workout and takes very little skill to master. The sensation of running in
snowshoes is a lot like chasing your dog on a sandy beach with oversized tennis racquets
attached to your feet.
I once ran in a 5K snowshoe race in Colorado. With 100 snowshoers mashing through the snow
at the start, the conditions resembled a whiteout. There’s a combination of
kids-playing-in-the-snow aspect to snowshoeing and an adult-like emphasis not to look
foolish flopping about in these winter feet-first accessories.
Treadmills Give Me that Hamstery Feeling
But back to treadmilling (is there such a word?). I used to live in a house with a hamster
named Ruby. Ruby loved her plastic wheel. All night long, she’d spin her little feet (I
think Ruby was a she) on this wheel. The loud, squeaking noise irritated me, especially
when I was trying to read. One night, I taped the wheel so it couldn’t move. Ruby didn’t
spin that night. Instead, to my alarm, she chewed through her plastic cage and escaped.
That morning, Ruby’s owner read me the riot act. In tears, she blamed me for losing her
pet hamster. I felt awful. Thankfully, my golden retriever Rockee later found Ruby hiding
under the couch. Ruby was rescued, and I was let out of the doghouse.
Treadmills give me that hamstery feeling. The most I have ever logged in one treadmill
session was five miles. It felt like an eternity. I’d had many distractions, such as
staring at the television monitors where CNN soundlessly recycled the news on its version
of a media treadmill. Then I tried increasing the speed of the treadmill and then
decreasing it. Then I tried reading a magazine (impossible), and staring at my neighboring
treadmillers. Then I just ran and watched the seconds flash by on the display screen.
Sometimes, you can pass the time if someone is running next to you. Unlike passing or being
passed by runners outside on the road or trails, competition indoors on a treadmill is bit
more subtle, requiring a sneaky, covert look at your next door neighbor’s flashing red
tempo panel. “Ah-ha,” you silently say to yourself, “he’s averaging only 7.5 minute miles,
and I’m at 7.2.” From such health club competition is born 10K races.
Racing against your neighbor on a treadmill is not the greatest etiquette; it’s more like
an unsaid rivalry, a keeping up with the Jones, literally.
The greatest exhilaration from running on a treadmill is finishing the run and watching
the revolving rubber mat at your feet slow to a halt. The run is over. You towel off your
sweat. And guess what? You’re now ready to tackle that stationary bicycle with Sisyphean
gusto.
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