Exercise

The books were, let’s say, not something I was interested in casually reading as I ate. So, I munched down my breakfast, the crunching of the cereal evident in the silence. Then, after putting the bowl and spoon in the dishwasher, I turned and eyed the bane of my existence, back when I first moved in with The Asshole–a treadmill.

With a sigh, I reluctantly went back into the bedroom and found a pair of yoga pants and a sports bra that was a bit tight. Amongst a variety of heels that all seemed a bit too tall for regular office wear, I found a pair of running shoes that were my size, thankfully. Changing, I trudged over to the devilish machine and spent a moment locating the power switch on the side of the machine, down by the floor.

Once powered, the screen came to life and offered a variety of “Guided Runs Through the World’s Most Scenic Locales”. Figuring that I had nothing to lose, I selected one that was supposed to be a run along the California coast. To my surprise, the screen lit up with a video that must have been taken from a head cam as someone ran along the coast. Unfortunately, I really did mean that they ran and the treadmill sped up to match their pace, quickly leaving me to jump onto the side rails, lest I be tossed off the back.

I stopped the current run and went back to search for one that went at a pace which I could actually maintain. As I selected the next candidate, a familiar jog through Central Park, I wished that I had the expertise to hack whatever computer was running the treadmill and send out a message on the WiFi that it must be connected to. Regretting not having MJ or one of the FBI’s other tech gurus available to walk me through it, I settled in and returned to the familiar sights and sounds of the park.

After a slow, but very long jog around the entirety of the park, I sat down on the couch in all my sweaty, tired glory and promptly fell asleep.