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As the calendar turns Smooth Strides, Fresh StartsBy Rick Horowitz
He has to do something about the treadmill. It's sitting there -- just sitting there -- down in the basement, waiting for him, as it waits for him at the start of every year. It's like clockwork: The calendar turns and the good intentions begin to pile up and the treadmill waits. But it's different this year. "Doing something about the treadmill" doesn't mean simply getting on the thing and striding purposefully toward some semblance of cardiovascular nirvana. It means fixing it. The treadmill's been slipping. Haven't we all?
• • • The thing he likes best about New Year's Eve isn't. Isn't New Year's Eve, that is. It's New Year's Day -- and more particularly, New Year's morning. He's never been the party-hearty type, so the thrill of the full imbibe (Holiday Edition) is lost on him. Likewise the challenges of on-demand jollity. What he loses in morning-after headaches, though, he gains in mornings after. The thing he likes best about New Year's Eve is waking up early on New Year's Day, when everyone else is still sleeping off their various celebrations. The morning paper is at the doorstep, but nothing else is: no traffic noise, not even any joggers to -- • • • He has to do something about the treadmill. The "walking belt" -- that's what they call the part that's been slipping. Lurching, really. It started a month or two ago, just his average afternoon visit to the treadmill in the basement, then one foot in front of the other, and again, and again, and the TV tuned to one of the music channels to cut the boredom. Except that at one point, this step was perfectly normal, and this next step wasn't. The "walking belt" had suddenly hiccupped under him, and he'd lost his footing and had had to grab at the handrails to keep from tumbling right off the back of the thing and into a wall. The best thing about walking on a treadmill, he'd always felt, was that he didn't have to focus on walking on the treadmill. He could let his mind wander -- to the songs on the TV, to something else, to nothing else. He could just put one foot in front of the other, and swing his arms, simple and relaxed. Suddenly, he had to concentrate. Lean forward. Grip the handrails. Stay alert. Where's the fun in that? • • • The thing he likes best about New Year's morning is this sense of hidden treasure, these few extra hours stolen from a brand-new calendar and ripe with possibility. His fresh stack of index cards is blank; his computer awaits the year's first keystrokes. Until the moment he writes a particular line, chooses a particular key, he could be about to write any line, about to choose any key! He wills the rest of the world to sleep a while longer. He's enjoying himself too much. • • • He has to do something about the treadmill. He's already managed to locate the user's manual, and Symptom No. 7 in the troubleshooting section: "The walking belt slips when walked on." He's somehow managed to find the special wrench he's supposed to use to turn both of the "rear roller adjustment bolts." "Clockwise," the instructions say, "1/4 of a turn." He's turned the bolts, and turned them again. And again. The bolts feel tighter -- but the belt is still slipping. If he wants to stay in shape, he tells himself, he has to use the treadmill. If he has to concentrate on the treadmill to use the treadmill, he'll start finding excuses not to use it. (He's already finding excuses not to use it.) It's time to call in the professionals on the toll-free helpline. • • • The thing he likes best about New Year's morning's stolen hours is the utter absence of obligation. He has to do something about the treadmill -- but not right now. The toll-free helpline is closed on holidays. He's a happy man. Posted 12/29/05.
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Rick Horowitz
