Driven

Before and after the weight loss


What is it about the old treadmill that draws me. The new elliptical (well, not new, its about two years old, but compared to the treadmill it's new.) sits in the living room in all it's glory, yet unused for a year now. I bought it a couple of summers ago thinking it would be the answer to everything. I could retire the old treadmill (bought ten years ago from a military colleague of my husband's while still living in California) I had been meaning to house the treadmill in the garage and use the elliptical exclusively. But I never did. I continued to use the treadmill with the elliptical as a supplement to lose the last fifteen of the seventy pounds I would eventually shed. After the weight was gone I thought I would just maintain my weight with the elliptical. It didn't work that way, though. After I finished I lost the motivation to work out at all. I took the treadmill out to the garage (to make space in the house) and the elliptical sat unused in a corner of the living room.
Recently, alarmed by the rapid pace at which I am regaining some of the weight, I decided to resurrect the old treadmill from the garage. The thought of running again excited me in a way the thought of the elliptical could not. I went out and dragged it inside and set it up in a very small private spot in the back of my house. (There was no more room in the L.R.). I adjusted the belt and cleaned it up. I noticed what poor shape it was in. Both arm handles are taped on with electrical tape. The cover is missing over the electronics. There is a slight tear in the belt. It is cracked on the sides where you step on. Nevertheless, I felt an affection for the old machine. The doctors told me five years ago I would probably never run again, due to torn ligaments in my knee. So I didn't. I started out walking. After shedding a few pounds I found I was able to jog. Then after a few more pounds I found myself running and loving every minute of it. And hating every minute of it, too. It was torture but I reveled in it. It was worth it.
So I turned it on...and nothing. The old thing has finally thrown in the towel. After all the miles we have run together it has finally run it's last. When I realized that I wouldn't be running on it anymore I actually cried.
Ridiculous isn't it? I just couldn't help it.
My husband, trying to make me feel better, told me we could get a new one, but he just doesn't understand. I don't want a new one. I just want this one to work. I am used to this one. I know how it works, I know how it feels, I could run on it in my sleep. (I'm not good at change, I don't even like to buy new running shoes when my old ones are worn completely out.) I NEED this treadmill to work.
I actually wrote a poem about running. A couple of years ago I had poems coming out of my ears. I would be in the shower and I would get an idea or a line and have to run to the computer and write it down before I forgot. This was one of the ones that came to me in the shower. It's called "Driven".

I start off slowly
walking sedately
unmotivated
and unwilling
to make my body move.
Step by step
I walk
until the blood
beats faster
and the heat starts to rise.
The tempo picks up
and my feet also feel the beat
and start to move
a little faster.
I feel it now.
My pulse grows stronger.
My breath is short and coming faster.
My heart is racing
arms in perfect rhythm
with my feet.
Staring straight ahead
I see nothing
I hear nothing
but the pounding in my ears
and the drumming of my feet.
Can't be stopped now.
I am driven.
Pushing myself
fully outstretched.
I am fluid.
Grace in motion.
Pulse and breath and legs are one.
There is no pain.
Reaching...
Reaching...
I am winning this battle
one heartbeat
at a time.

copyright. J.S. 2007