Have you ever been thrown off a treadmill in a fit of rage? Not your own rage mind you, but the rage of the treadmill?
It happened to me once. It was frightening. It was shameful. And it was painfully ungraceful.
Perhaps I should start at the beginning...
Our treadmill and I were once extremely close. We spent a lot of time together. Quality time. It was a bedazzling affair. It was... until the treadmill became loose.
That last paragraph sounded so much better while I wrote it.
Every time I ran on the treadmill, the mat would slip from underneath me. I became increasingly irritated with each jaunt and I decided to take out my frustrations using my good friend Allen T. Wrench.
Before each jog, I would tighten the mat until I felt it was sufficient to hold my weight without lurching me to the left. I had no idea what I was really doing...
One late afternoon, I was running at breakneck speeds while watching my good friend Dr. Phil, when I heard a pop and felt a strong jolt. All at once, my body was flung across our bedroom and catapulted into the wall like a sack of wet laundry. I slid from the wall to the floor and withered in pain. As I fell, I noticed that the now unbelted belt of the treadmill had slapped me in the back of the leg as a show of disrespect for me and my family. Additionally, as I was rolling around in agony trying to regain my composure, the belt of the now dismembered treadmill continued to rotate and slap the ground; simply mocking me for my stupidity.
And that was not the worst part. Cathi, hearing the ruckus and painful yelping that had just sounded from her bedroom, rushed in. She found her husband writhing in pain, a flapping treadmill and nuts and bolts spread around the room. Assessing the situation, of course, she went to check on the treadmill first.
The entire back end of the treadmill had been destroyed. It had crunched in upon itself, succumbing to the immense pressure that I had placed on the belt with my endless tightening. I wanted nothing to do with that beastly atrocity. Cathi, on the other hand, still had feelings for the ruthless killing machine. I think it is because it had never spit her out and mocked her like a heartless jogger exterminator.
Now here's the kicker of the whole ordeal: Cathi, being the savvy consumer and the practical handy-dandy-lady that she prides herself on being, goes online and orders all the necessary parts, drives to Logan to pick them up, and then - with limited instruction, puts the entire thing back together. She did this all, while her worthless, brain dead husband sat on his butt, watching reruns of King of Queens.
I am pathetic.
So I guess what I am trying to say is that I married the right lady - someone roughly 168% smarter than I.
Cheeseboy's Life Lessons for a Happy Life
Life Lesson #1 - The art of the dance. Lesson #2 - Run like the wind. Lesson #3 - Say or do anything for a laugh. Lesson #4 - Listen to a lot of REO Speedwagon and frequent the Little Caesars lobby to find true love. #5 - Eat cheese fries. #6 - Stay off treadmills and marry someone smarter than yourself.
PS/Update: Cathi just reminded me that while she was doing all this repair work, she was also 9 months pregnant with Lincoln. Kinda a big thing I guess.