An Open Letter to the Treadmill…Stuck in My Driveway
We weren't meant to meet this way. It started over Christmas when I flirted with the idea of adding a home gym in my basement. After all, Montana has short seasons and being able to exercise indoors when the sidewalks are encased in ice, or the air is thick with wildfire smoke seemed like a good idea.
It started like any other online purchase. I perused Amazon. I Googled "Best Treadmills 2023." I visited sites of the brands and retailers I'd heard of. I checked Facebook Marketplace. I asked friends. It's a post-pandemic world--these things aren't as easy as they used to be.
But we finally met online and fell in love. You boasted a reasonable price with attractive features. I was shy, but we hit it off. We decided it was "time to meet", so I put in an order. You were so polite. Do you remember? You offered:
Once your item has been shipped, a tracking number will be emailed to you.
An appointment will be made to ensure you are available to receive your equipment.
But Treadmill, these were sweet nothings.
I started to think you were a player. You'd tease with "More Features" emails, and clever subject lines like "Let's Get Physical." But you never sent the tracking number you promised. And I waited by my phone for you to call. But a call never came.
I considered breaking up with you and seeing someone else. I mean, after you've been ghosted, it's time to move on, right?
Then, like the unexpected ex from the past, you appeared.
You were waiting for me in my driveway. How dare you. How dare you show up unannounced, expecting to just waltz in the front door. Did you even think about how I would feel when you showed up on the week my partner was out of town? Did you think about the fact that it's the middle of February when snow or wind could damage my significant investment? No.
Now I need exercise equipment in order to be able to move my exercise equipment. You broke my heart, treadmill.
The Girl with the Wimpy Arms in Missoula