Treadmill Hatred.

So my choice is to run outside, in the dark, in biting 30 degree weather—or run inside, in a heated gym, on a brand-new, state-of-the-art treadmill complete with an iPod docking station, fan, super-cool water bottle holder and clear view of CNN, HGTV or ESPN.


Odd as it might sound, I’m torn between these choices. As a Florida girl for going on four years, I have that “thinned out blood” and hate to be cold.

But as a runner who enjoys the sights of the road—whether it’s the funky way my knock-kneed neighbor runs as if his right leg and left leg are trying to have a conversation, or the occasional dead reptile on the sidewalk—being banished to the treadmill is like a punishment.

Tuesday was a treadmill day and it was absolutely miserable. I'm not really used to having my running performance being advertised in size 90 font and I got a little anxious by the constant updating of miles run, calories burned, pace, etc. In fact, I got so obsessed by the numbers blaring in my face that I ran way too hard, got my heart rate in the call-the-paramedics zone, and ended up almost collapsing afterwards. And almost puking, too. It was both the shortest and longest three mile run of my life.

I’m thinking tomorrow I’ll run with a towel covering up the read-out on the machine. Better to go a little slower and below my game but get caught up in the enjoyment of the running than run really fast, hate every second of it, and possibly need to be removed from the gym in a stretcher.

On second thought, running in the cold is sounding more and more attractive.