No love for the treadmill

It takes a special, nasty day to get me onto a treadmill. 

I jump on one probably two or three times per year.  I remember one day this winter when my marathon training schedule called for 10 miles.  I walked half a mile over to the gym to change into my winter running gear and head out, but on the walk over, the bitter cold and wind were so disheartening that I couldn't bear to do the mileage outside.  I did the workout on the treadmill instead, wearing a random cotton t-shirt shoved into the bottom of my gym bag with my winter running tights.

There were a whole bunch of triumphant feelings at the end but also a concrete awareness of my upper treadmill mileage limits. I can't mince words--I find the treadmill exceptionally, horrifically boring.  I regret that I've never been able to lock into the zone that dedicated gym runners channel.  I know runners who have toughed out enormous long runs on the treadmill, which I can't even fathom. Music, TV, people-watching: none of it works for long.  But sometimes, on special Minnesota weather days, it's just the lesser of two evils.

Today, nearly 100 degrees warmer, I found myself in that place. 

I was planning to join my club for a hill workout at 6:00, but when I checked the weather at 4:30, the temperature had soared past the predicted high to 89 with a heat index of 97, courtesy of some Muggy Mugfest 2011-style humidity.  I did a cost-benefit analysis of joining my group and decided to do a short run outside on my own instead.  Then I actually went outside and learned that running outside was not a remotely pleasurable plan.  I headed over the the gym with the intent of doing the hill workout and swimming.

Well, I badly mismanaged my schedule. Seriously: if the pool is open until 7:30 and I'd finish my run at 7:20, how could I think I would have time for a 30-minute swim?  So, just a run.  But thanks in part to the treat of tunes on my new tiny iPod nano and a Twins game on the TV, I got the workout done and ran four big old pseudo-hills.  I couldn't imagine being much warmer or sweatier, though, and I cringe thinking of how lousy I'd feel if I had done the hills outside.  When I am at the gym on the treadmill, by the way, I have this bad habit of imagining that I look steely and tough as I churn out miles, only to learn afterward (every single time) that my face is actually the color of an overripe strawberry and my sweat glands are practically popping out of my cheeks.  Whew--I am tuckered out.

Treadmill, I was grateful for you today, but I hope it's the last time I visit you until the snow flies fast and furious.  In almost any weather, I choose the open road--no belt under my feet, please.