Dear Treadmill: An Open Letter to my Favorite Instrument of Torture

Dear Treadmill,

I suppose I should start by apologizing for all the names I’ve called you so far this summer: the classic “dreadmill” title and the inside joke “trashmill” with my race twin, or the oh so straightforward “Satan’s Spawn” because I know calling you those names doesn’t help either of us, and probably makes me psych myself out about using you even more. But man, it sometimes feels like you really truly deserve it. Continue reading