Tragedy on a treadmill

 

To whom it may concern,

Someone has changed the speed settings on my favourite treadmill. I discovered this at the gym in a most unfortunate manner; while I was increasing the speed level to my usual 8.5 but realised I was Usain Bolt-ing it at 6.9.

Firstly, let’s take a moment to acknowledge that I have a favourite treadmill but have somehow still managed to gain weight – a true achievement. While I was trying not to sound like I was having some sort of respiratory breakdown on what used to be the good treadmill, my long-legged friend Ella looked like a damn Baywatch commercial on the treadmill beside me. I on the other, hand looked like Bellatrix Lestrange had just finished her stint at Azkaban – line up gents.

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After what seemed like a lifetime of dealing with this travesty, which was surely a punishment for avoiding the gym for some time, I decided 10 minutes of hoping the agonising stitch would go away was long enough. And just as I considered lowering my speed from Usain bolt to ’07 Britney is when an attractive guy walks in. He’s the kind of person you chuck on a pedestal and you know it’ll never happen but you pretend to be attractive around him anyway. And he walks by and smiles and you have to try and hold in the asthma attack and smile back till he’s out of hearing distance.

So I was forced to feign athleticism for another excruciating 15 minutes on a treadmill that was out to get me, running beside Gisele bloody Bundchen with a stitch that had now escalated to a health risk by all standards. I would just like you to know I’ve learnt my lesson and did not return to the gym today. Mostly out of necessity because it hurts to breathe. And to the person who changed the settings of the treadmill, I don’t know who you are but I dislike you with every fibre of my being.

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