I had a love/hate relationship with that thing.
I hated that I had to get on it each time.
I loved that I could burn a whole bunch of calories, shower and dress before I had to get ready for work.
I hated that it would
I loved that it offered me the flexibility to work out when the girls were napping or before the children were awake in the mornings.
I bought my treadmill right after Will was born and have since walked many hours with him and the girls in my slings or in the Baby Bjorns to put them to sleep.
This treadmill offered me many minutes of sanity on the coldest of days during Mark's last deployment (although not always uninterrupted).
And now...the day before Mark leaves again, it tries to catch fire on me....mid-run.
Not to be dissauded too easily, I checked the power cord, realized the the circuit had popped, reset it and then began to run again. Snap. umph BAM. Power out again.
For me...three times are a charm. Three times before I learn my lesson.
Then, I started to smell something burning.
And I knew that moment, the news was bad.
My treadmill is dead.
I am sad.
And now tomorrow, because it is dead,
...tomorrow I get to sleep in!
Maybe I am not so sad any longer?