The Dreaded Treadmill of Pain and Boredom

In my never ending quest to lose weight, stay in a reasonable facsimile of ‘shape’ and NOT blow up like just another one of Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin’s airship, I bought an elliptical. I bought it for Jen and I (her concern is fitness and bone health vs weight loss — she of the perma thin, high metabolism bod. bitch.). We quickly found that:

A) it was too damned hard times 12
and
B) BOR-ING!!!

She countered my elliptical move with a treadmill purchase. Very smart. Brighter still — she set up a TV with DVD player in front of it.

This was the genesis of our current routine. We’re morning people so pre-work hours are best for jumping on this very mild instrument of torture. I start at 5 AM — Jen at 5:40.

At 5 AM I was firing up old episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or the spin off series Angel. A lot of action in these babies and they’re not exactly deep so it was easy to walk, climb, run while watching. After a time though, I wanted something else. Something different.

I found the first season of Sex and the City. Goddamn, I remember loving that show! Of course, that was a precious multitude of years past. I was able to overlook, or maybe it just didn’t phase me, the implausibility of these, theoretically, early 30s chicas and their magnificent careers.

Samantha: owner of a PR firm.
Charlotte: owner of a posh, successful art gallery
Miranda: lawyer on the path to partnerhoodness in a BIG firm
and
Carrie: columnist in a major mag/newspaper

All in Manhattan -- NOT Dubuque, Missoula or even Pittsburgh. They were succeeding, at very young ages, on one of the biggest stages WORLDWIDE. That and they were usually, most often, dating millionaires and/or the latest hottest thing going.

Phfft — sure. Somehow, at the delicate, tender even, age of 40, I was able to make the giant suspension of disbelief.  I remember noticing the ferocious unlikelihood of their lives but it was OK by me. Carrie was a bit homely and wore WAY too much makeup but she was so blasted CUTE! Miranda was a neurotic, yet sweet, bitch. Charlotte was an uptight loon and Samantha was my hero.

We all need fairy tales. Hell, I need my escapes from reality — I sure as hell do! At this point though, I prefer more radical departures.

 Stories of women who can afford to blow their earning on an endless parade of Manolos, nightly dinners out at the newest, poshest, most IN restaurant, the big decision between Danger Boy and Safe Man — eh, doesn’t thrill me.

 Give me Vampires to wrastle. Titania, Queen of the Fairies to envy. Greek Gods in the 21st century — behaving badly. The End of Times meets Terry Pratchett/Neil Gaiman comedy.

Yeah, that’s what I’m into. Fairy stories, vampires, greek gods and the end of the world!

Chicks in high heels, trying to score rich husband while featuring make up that could only read as subtle from the last row at the Blackpool Opera House. Eh, I’m just not so much down with that.

Just can’t dig it anymore — not even while treadmilling at 5 AM.  Hey, get me a glass of True Blood while you're up — K?