My small home office has been dominated by an enormous treadmill. It's one of those fancy-smancy Nordic Track models. My son joined a gym a few years back and decided he no longer needed it. He took a good look at me and decided I really needed it. So, I inherited the Nordic Track.
I climbed on board and used that hunk of hardware and metal every single day. It kept me on my toes (in more ways than one) as it would speed up, rise to dizzying heights, and then slow down at the most unpredictable intervals. But it was all good. Norrie and I managed to make our relationship work.
Slowly things began to change. I stopped walking on Norrie. I was too tired, too busy, too anything but motivated enough to exercise. Things went from bad to worse. I tried not to look at Norrie whenever I sat at my desk eating chips. I could feel him burning an accusing image in my back. I considered moving Norrie to the basement (out of sight, out of mind), but knew I'd never get him downstairs.
Yesterday, Son asked if he could retrieve the Nordic Track. His new bride plans to put her skinny cute self on a daily treadmill regimen. While I'm not sure about her need for such measures, at least I don't have to feel guilty anymore. Norrie is gone.
You know how things go with break-ups...how a person can agonize over what could have been done differently to make things work. However, I'm handling our break-up fairly well. The only thing that really bothers me now is I no longer have a place to hang my clothes.
