Treadmill Blues

I didn’t run on Monday and Tuesday after feeling so terrible on Sunday. When I don’t run, there’s no reason to write a blog.  Yesterday I realised that, whenever I don’t run and don’t write, I have started to miss both. 

When running, I’ve begun to mull over what I might write once I finish and think about ways to express what I think or see. When writing, I have the time to ponder why I run, and what I want to achieve. Writing about running makes me look forward to the next run. Running makes me look forward to writing.

This is great, as long as I am running. When I’m not, I feel twice as bad as I used to when just not running was the issue. Last night I cracked and went to the gym. If I fainted in the gym, the logic ran, my head would probably hit a piece of equipment before it reached the floor. In the gym, however, no-one can hear you scream. If they don’t have headphones in, they are deafened by the soundclash of bleeping machines, whirring treadmills, thumping zumba music and announcements for 20 free sunbed sessions. Did you know they are more effective after a work-out?

I’m glad I went, but 3 miles on a treadmill are not the stuff of inspiration or meditation. One of my headphones is broken so I had the New Yorker Fiction Podcast in my right ear and cacophony in the left. I did some cross-training, 10 minutes on a bike, a few weights, and scurried home into the evening rain, so uninspired.