I know that it is odd to say but I miss my treadmill. I miss going downstairs, putting my running shoes on and working out to my favorite music and shows. While I get to climb hill upon hill in San Francisco, which will supposedly make my legs toned if not give me a heart attack, there is nothing like just running and running and zoning out.
I put on my headphones and keep my notepad near while I run on the treadmill. I often come up with answers to problems or with writing topics. I daydream and pretend I am in Hawaii sipping a Mai Tai. It is quite a feat to run and drink-at least in my day dreams. The hills of San Francisco, mired these days in deep fog, don’t allow me the chance to zone out the way I do on the treadmill. I often have to wonder how I will carry 1o-20 pounds of groceries up the steep hills without passing out. The oxygen is staggered. I occasionally stop and take photos from the hill tops just to remind me of what I have accomplished. But there is no zoning out.
In two weeks I will be reunited with my treadmill for a few days. And that will be a glorious time. Till then, the hills are alive with my huffing and puffing.