Of mind-numbing madness: 12 miles on a treadmill

OK, so I wimped out.

You wake up on that Saturday morning in late January and you have a choice:  Suck it up, get out into the cold, and do your 12-mile run; or turn the brain on neutral, venture to the gym, put on the iPod, hope for a decent basketball game on the little treadmill TV in front of you, and run on the hamster wheel.

But before you think me a complete wimp, let me add a few things: It was really cold, wicked cold, even. We’re talking 18 degrees of wind-whipping, face-numbing, private-parts-chilling nastiness.  And though I used running in the cold as an excuse for growing a beard, in truth, the beard does no good. It’s just a fashion thing…I think. True, so I also used running in the cold as an excuse to buy some real nice running gear in a moment of gear-gasm at REI. But they only do so much (and I still can’t figure out how to run while wearing a Snuggie). Oh yeah, and I hate the cold.

Now that I have my rationalization out of the way, a quick thumbnail of my brain on the treadmill for about 100 minutes:

“OK, zen, zen. Think zen. Long way to go here. Don’t go too fast to get it over with. Relax. Just run. Do your pace. Doing  good. Zen. I’m freaking zen…”

“Do I really care who wins between Oklahoma State and some team in blue? No, no I do not. Let’s see…Food Channel. Let’s not think ‘food’ while running. Mythbusters? Saw that one. Golf? Bah! Celtic singers? Umm, yeah, no. Blue screen. Blue screen. MTV? People will think I’m a creepy old guy. Lifetime? Tales of women betrayed! Nah. CNBC or MSNBC on a Saturday. Snooze. Cramer? Shut the f$&# up you charlatan! Now who is Oklahoma State playing?”

“Do I want mellow music or something peppy? [Editor’s Note: Yes, I listen to the iPod and watch the TV while on the treadmill .] Lyle Lovett? Too mellow. Dropkick Murphy? Cliche. Stones? Eeeeh. Music from the 50 indie bands whose names I can never remember but iTunes’ recommendation engine assured me were just what I’d like? Perfect…”

“I’m bored…”

“What’s going on across the street there? Is someone breaking into that office? Someone call the police! Maybe I’ll call them when I’m done with my run…”

“Who is this indie band? I can’t believe I spent 99 cents on this song…”

“How’d rap get on there? Change song, must change song….”

“Crap. I really need to spit. Don’t spit. OK, no. Really need to spit. Maybe I’ll spit into that towel. Did that woman next to me see me do it? Is she grossed out? Don’t think she saw me…”

“Bruuuuuuuuuce!”

“Wait, she’s getting off her treadmill. She saw me! She’s disgusted and she’s complaining to management and they’re going to throw me out and revoke my hamster wheel rights!”

“Still no police over there…”

“Boy, those people out there look cold. Gah, a runner! I’m shamed…”

“Bored, bored, bored, I’m the chairman of the bored…”

“Oh, she’s back. Is that a dirty look she’s giving me? Damn, she saw the spit. I’m so embarrassed…”

“I wonder if my running is really loud…”

“Alright, enough with the dirty looks lady…”

“I’d like to think I’m fairly light on the feet…”

“Wait, that’s another person giving me dirty looks…”

“Wow, am I shvitzing on this machine or what?”

“Everclear: Whatever happened to those guys? ‘With my big black boots and an old suitcase, I do believe I’ve found myself a new place…’ ”

“Hey, cops!”

“We can live beside the ocean, something something something, swim out past the breakers, watch the world die…”

“Hmmm, what’s going on over there? They’re talking with that questionable guy now.”

“Dude, how can you take that shot?!! What team are you on?”

“Aaah, they know him. Now they’re shaking hands…”

“Who is this? Feist and Grizzly Bear? Precious overload! Growing faint…”

“Really growing faint. Gotta slow down this pace. Don’t be dumb…”

“Great. Only 8 more miles to go. Zen, zen, I am so zen…”

Tomorrow: Less whining, and waxing poetic on a winter evening along the Charles River.