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5 February 2015, 00:00

Endorphins are making me write. Actually, they are demanding it.

I get on the treadmill and at some point past brain numbness, I start dictating a dialogue. Like a column. It’s pretty weird. And I sing out loud way the fuck off key. I am now doing a HOUR a day, which works out to be about 4 miles. Today, I did about 25 percent more. Don’t know why. But now my thinking is funky and so is my smell. I’m all brain numby and happy. Could be that I might have to end the ME TIME abruptly because of a job offer that I just can’t turn down. A GREAT job with a company with INTEGRITY and all that. Doug would put me in a straight jacket if I turned it down (should they offer it to me). I did really well, so I’ll be surprised if they didn’t.

I’m just noticing now that I kind of stinky.

With the new job, there won’t be ME TIME, and probably not a big amount of Tready Time. I’m torn because this is what I asked for. A GREAT job that’s not all rapey-frought and fraud-soaked. I want the security of a large, insane amount of money. And mama wants a new imac, though I would like to commend Apple on the 2008 iMacs. Geeze, these are problem free little work horses.

But. I like the ME TIME. The large amount of free time that I channel (eventually) into something productive. Tready Time, designing, dog time, cleaning. Especially in the summer, ME TIME is like paradise. But. I’d be bat shit crazy to turn down this job (again, if they offer it to me).

The endorphins are kicking in, my my knees and legs that were sore at the beginning of this workout, now I can’t feel. The treadmill is kind of neato. I do miss doing the treks outside, but the treadmill makes the workout more consistent and about 100 times more boring. If I’m out on the track or the horsey thing, my speed is very up and down, mostly following the beat of the music to which I am listening. And I’m very goal oriented – “let’s make it to that tree before I vomit” or “I really need to pee, I better run now”.

I find myself looking at the numbers on the display on the treadmill, planning to quit when I reach XXX or when I finished the little circle. So putting the display on some arbitary meaningless, yet changing number (like calories burned) seems to help me not call a Miller-time out. There are advantages and disadvantages to both outside trekking and Tready Time. The outside trekking allows me to vary my speed and do a goal in which I can end the godforsaking self abuse that running is and go home. “I just have to make it home, and I’ll have a successful workout” I don’t care about getting to a certain time or distance. I just care about getting the hell off the track before I pass out. Plus, on a track, I can be more animated – I dance and sing when the endorphins kick in, and sometimes I can scare or amuse the passerby and thusly satiate that little bit of exhibitionism that craves to be let out. This keeps it from being expressed in highly inappropriate ways. BUT. You have no way to quantify all that shit that I do on the track. I would get home and after some semblance of homosapien comprehensive thought came back (I’m not thinking, “me stinky, tree pretty”), I get on the computer, and geotrack my path and calucuate my calorie burn, notating it in a database I made (yup. I’m THAT person. I’ve got a good portion of my brain I call Sheldon Cooper). BUT. Out on the track, there’s a possibility of large animal attacks – okay, a small possibility, but it exists. Large escaped cheetahs that are on the hunt for supple Kansas girl flesh. Aliens could strike me with a death ray. Bigfoot. And rabid hillbillies looking to kidnap me for some nefarious purpose. I have ALWAYS listed this as one of the primary fears I have since I’ve moved to this part of the country. Redneck abduction. Some dude who is the offspring of Hee Haw and Ted Bundy sees me, and shoves me in the back of his Ford F150. Other than that, I love doing the outside thing.

The treadmill is cool too, because it allows me to keep consistent speeds and levels, quantifies just about everything going on and feeds my OCD. I’m protected from the elements and kidnappers – although not home invaders. The stupid dogs are suppose to do that, but sleeping under the desk hardly inspires confidence that any of them will come to my rescue and rip off the testicles of some arrant psychopath who has chosen to enter my home and nab me off my treadmill. Also, on the treadmill, its boring. I can’t really change the music if I don’t like it and I’m always staring at the same thing – big ass poster of Richard Nixon and fat Elvis. I can’t be as animated because I am just not that coordinated to do it successfully. I’m in fear of falling off, cracking my head open on the computer desk, and causing my dogs the dilemma of questioning whether they should bark at the drunken trailer dwelling for help, or just eating me. And it is WAY TOO EASY to quit – to say fuck it, and go have carrot cake while I watch Doctor Phil.

I’ve pretty much decided to do both. Tready Time until its warmer and I’m in a presentable condition to be out in public. Don’t want no inbred meth babies pointing from their porches saying “Mama, lookie, fat lady running”.

Yeah. My ME TIME is a lot different from one might imagine it to be.