John Cleese the Treadmill.

We have acquired a hand-me-down treadmill, which is both good and bad. I hate exercising. I’m not one of those people that’s all, “RUNNING FOREVER. I HEART JOGGING. I CAN THROW A FOOTBALL TO TEXAS! YESSSSSS!!!!” I work out because if I don’t, I get fat and I don’t like being fat. I also want to be hot for Blog Her ’12 which I’m bound and determined to attend. I hate exercising and I hate this fucking piece of exercise equipment. I like the way working out makes me feel but the actual act of working out, I dread. When it’s time to walk I eyeball it and think of various ways I could annihilate it. Lighting it on fire. Throwing it off a bridge. Ding-dong-ditching it on some poor unsuspecting fool’s doorstep (YOUR PROBLEM NOW ASSHOLES! AAAHH HA HA HA HAHA!)… But in the end, I don’t do any of those things because I’m afraid of fire and it’s too heavy for me to carry.

Evil, thy name is Treadmill.

We took the treadmill that Josh’s parents had in their basement. They weren’t using it anymore and it’s pretty much the temperature of Satan’s asshole outside 24/7 so we needed a way to exercise indoors. Jillian Michaels also comes from hell and I’m not paying money for her to torture and maim me (and I’m afraid to illegally download things because I’m not cut out for prison. I WATCH OZ, I KNOW WHAT HAPPENS THERE) so we got the treadmill. It’s sitting in our living room, mocking me. It’s functional, and runs, but that’s about it. I think sometimes I hear it wheezing when I’m walking on it but that could also be because I’m fat and it’s like “PLEASE NOOOO GET OFF MEEEE.”

I got on the treadmill the other night and took it slow-ish. I’m very out of shape so I didn’t want to hurt myself. About ten minutes into it, I got cocky and was all, “IM’A RUN. WATCH ME Y’ALL” and I cranked it up to a slow jog. Now, I wasn’t even good at jogging when I was skinny and in shape. I have the knees of the Cryptkeeper and they squeak and crack when I get up off the couch so I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I was jogging and feeling very sweaty and productive. I slowed the treadmill down back to my comfortable pace and my knees were all, “AHH. WHY DOES IT HATES US, PRECIOUS? IT BURNS. IT BURNSSSSSS.”
P.S. my knees are also Gollum.

I alternated jogging and briskly walking for thirty minutes until I’d had enough of the treadmill and I hobbled off. I felt good even though I was drenched in sweat. It’s so crazy to think that three years ago, I could take a one hour power aerobics class and still have breath to spare at the end but jogging/fast walking on a treadmill now makes me almost suffocate and die.

Even though I hate working out and the treadmill makes me all *side eye*, I decided it needs a name if we’re going to continue to be friends. I decided to name it John Cleese, because that’s what I see when I walk. We have a Monty Python poster on the wall directly in front of the treadmill. When I’m exercising, I’m staring at this the whole time:



Even though I dread using John Cleese, even though while I’m walking I’m actually thinking about tacos and cheese logs, I’m going to stick with it. I have no excuse. So begins Operation: Fit for BlogHer. Me & John Cleese are going to become well acquainted over the next 12 months even if he is an old, dusty son of a bitch.