Torture at 24 Hours

I've got this. I've GOT this.

I'm plugged in. It's the running play mix I trained to months ago, when my body was working properly.

I mount the steely beast of a machine. The dreaded device of torture where I will spend the next 45 minutes, moving arms and legs in rhythmic repetitive motions while going exactly nowhere.

I select "variety" the ups and downs and varying intensity will certainly keep this interesting right?

The timer starts ticking away the seconds and minutes ever, ever so slowly.

I stare at Barbie on the treadmill in front of me, blond ponytail bobbing up and down while her spandex clad bum runs at a breakneck speed. Bitch. Wait until your knee gives out.

Justin Timberlake serenades me with his "Sexy Back", the beat cheers me and I remember to engage my core.

God damn it! My Iphone slips from it's spot on the elliptical and crashes to floor ripping out my ear buds. Christ. The clock reads 8 minutes and 42 seconds. Where is the damn pause button?
I retrieve my phone and plug back in, ready to restart. How do I restart? Where is the unpause button? Is it...

Crap! No! I do not want to cancel out. Now I'm back at zero and will have to mentally calculate that I already put in 8 minutes and 45 seconds.

Okay Adele, your love songs worked when I was gazing across the blue waters of Lake Merritt on my long runs, but when I'm staring at a muted HGTV program about a farm house renovation I need something a bit more... inspirational.

I'm sweating. Why am I sweating so darn much? Is it unusually hot in here?  Seriously, you can't trick me into thinking that just because I am soaking wet after 15 minutes on this damn machine that I am working out so much harder than I did when running ten miles.

Did I say I was going to do 45 minutes? Would 35 be enough?

Yeah Barbie I see you. You are so fast, look at you go. So determined. What the hell are you doing in this sweaty gym anyways? You can run outside. I'm stuck in this hell hole.

22 minutes. I need a distraction, but what? The farm house show blows, the running Barbie is pissing me off, and staring at this blinking screen is driving me nuts.

Attitude adjustment! Come on! Up that intensity. Go. Go. Go. This is what you have to do now. This is your means to a healthy body.

Seriously? Did they just change the channel to The Food Network? Now I have to watch some skinny chick making fettuccine alfredo with a gallon of whipping cream? I don't know what is worse skinny pasta lady or beauty queen runner.

Okay the dude next to me smells. Bad.
Is this ever going to end?

36 minutes. I have passed 35. I can make it to 45. 45 minutes and then I can go home and take a nap.

Or eat some pasta.
Yeah. Pasta.
Fettuccine alfredo.
And some wine. Lots of wine.

But then I'd have to come back.