Ode to the Treadmill: A Love Letter to the Machine we Love to Hate

We call you the dreadmill. Satan's sidewalk. The hamster wheel of death. So many mean names for a belt, a motor and a few bleep bloops. We audibly sigh when someone mentions you. Sometimes when we think of you we shiver at the memories of going so far yet going nowhere at all. Many of us will go out of our way to tell our friends how much we hate you, that we never want to see you again.

I know it hurts to hear these things, but I have a secret to tell you. Deep down inside, in the depths of what drives us to run in the first place, down in that place that makes us go when we want to stop, we love you. Yes. That's right. We love you. I know this is strange to hear. We never tell you. Even if we did tell you, you wouldn't hear us over the cursing of our friends.

The thing is, you are always there for us. Our stories are written on your weathered tread. The working mother who wakes up at 5 AM to get her miles in before the stresses and responsibilities of the day begin. The single dad who finds a few minutes to visit with you between hockey practice, ballet and viola lessons. The runner clawing her way back from injury sets you to low, just to feel her feet move again. We come to you during the winter to escape the cold and snow. We come to you during the summer for respite from the heat and humidity. We come to you when it rains and when it's too dark. And in the midst of a pandemic, when we were asked to stay home, you were there to carry us. 

You wear our sweat and tears and you never complain. You are there for our best and sometimes for our worst. When we come to you, we aren't always excited to be there, but you are there anyway. You speed up and slow down when we tell you to. You can make us feel like we are climbing the steepest hill or running the flattest flat with the push of a button. You will even come to an abrupt stop at the pull of a string. 

You live in our basements and our garages. Sometimes we share you with others and come to visit you at the gym. We can find you when we travel or at our parents' houses with boxes stacked upon you. For those of us lucky enough to know you, you are never far. 

We are sorry for forgetting that sometimes we take you for granted. We forget that not everyone has the luxury of your company. In those times, when they have to make the choice to not run, they yearn for your infinite rotation. 

So, no matter what, remember that we love you. We will never tell you, and we will definitely never tell anyone else. We are adventure seekers after all. We would rather be on the trails surrounded by forests or mountains or on the roads taking in the sights of our cities. But, even when we neglect you for a while and let a layer of dust form on your dash, know that we will be back eventually, because we know you are there ready to turn endlessly under our feet taking us far, yet nowhere at all.