On Saturday (if you don’t follow me on The Twitters), Marcus informed me as I was heading out to a bridal shower that he thought the treadmill was broken because he heard a popping noise.
I am of the understanding that there are a fair number of treadmill-haters amongst us, but kittens, I am not one of them.
We bought our treadmill right after we moved in together in 2010. I found it on Craigslist for $350 – the original owner had purchased it in 2007, used it three times and promptly injured himself in a ski accident. The treadmill lived under a dustcloth in the garage from that day forward.
Some people get love puppies, we got used exercise equipment.
Since then, I have trained for five half-marathons and now, four marathons on that thing. I have spent thousands of miles and hundreds of hours on it.
So I’m assuming you can imagine how a sight like this could be distressing.
Behold, the work of Sare, our (new) partner in treadmill repair.
I ran away to a bridal shower, and Marcus called every treadmill repair shop in town. Yes, he is the husband of the century. No, I will not share him with you.
And yes, treadmill repair people are still calling us back.
Sare’s verdict: Apparently we managed to blow the circuit board. The part has been ordered, it should be here in three days or so.
Which is basically lifetime. Or an eternity, if you’re counting in dog years.
That the treadmill finally broke is not surprising. When I was originally researching the model that we have, I discovered that it was not rated for marathon training. Which wasn’t a problem at the time, because I wasn’t a marathon runner. So with all of that in mind, the amount of pounding that machine has taken is nothing short of astonishing, really.
I coped by sourcing a new pair of running shoes. Because stress = shoes. Right? This is a universal language amongst women.
Back me up on this one, sister-friends.
Brooks rolled out the Ravenna 4s a few weeks ago, and since I’m (finally) on my last pair of Ravenna 3s I need another pair to start rotating in.
I know. I know. So practical at the core.
But in the midst of all of this flapping around, the reality is that in 55 days, I will be at the start line of the Paris Marathon. There is lots to be serious about.
That, is another story for another day.