Silent Treatment on the Treadmill
As a totally blind runner, I spend more time on a treadmill than anyone should ever have to. Thanks to a growing network of running partners and friends, I do get outdoors as often as possible. However, when inclement weather, transportation issues, or scheduling conflicts arise, chances are no one’s available to hit the road with me, so I make a date with my favorite piece of gym equipment.
I’m typically good for anywhere from 8 to 14 miles when I step on the treadmill. The monotony starts to take a toll if I push much further than that. I view this as a manifestation of my own weakness rather than an indictment of treadmill running, however.
At any rate, music, audiobooks, or podcasts usually help me pass the time. So far, 22 miles is my longest treadmill run. I was able to get through that with one episode of the Joe Rogan Experience.
An introvert by nature, however, I often crave the solitude of a treadmill run. My capacity for conversation is generally depleted before my capacity for physical work is, so I don’t mind the loneliness. More succinctly, I’d rather listen than talk, in life as well as in running.
My earbuds play a crucial role in this antisocial routine. I rely on them to funnel energizing music and/or compelling chatter directly into my brain, distracting me from the pain and boredom of my cardio session. But ear buds are small and fragile. They can be rendered useless by any number of unfortunate calamities.
Forgotten in the pocket of some sweaty gym shorts and run through the washer and dryer, dropped on the floor and sucked up by an ornery robot vacuum—we don’t have to get into specific examples from my own life or anything. Suffice it to say that a lot can go wrong with earbuds, so once every seven-and-a-half months I’m forced to do a treadmill run in silence.
Which is precisely the conundrum I found myself in a few weeks ago. I had the day off due to it being a federal holiday, so I laced up my shoes and headed for the treadmill. What better way to commemorate President’s Day than by expending a whole bunch of energy without making any real progress?
My music app was open; my running playlist was cued up and ready to go. But my earbuds refused to come on. I removed them from my ears and returned them to the charging case. After waiting a moment, I popped them back in my ears but still nothing. I repeated the process a couple of times, utterly bemused by the sudden loss of Bluetooth connectivity.
The buds were fully charged. I had used them earlier that morning with no problem. What dramatic event could have transpired during the journey from second-floor apartment to third-floor gym to leave them so thoroughly unresponsive?
Perplexed but impatient to get started, I fired up the treadmill and began running, with no sound accompanying me save for the flat, humorless drone of the running belt as it commenced its endless rotation around the tread deck.
The first few miles passed rather quickly, the simple pleasure of movement keeping my spirit high. But this initial enthusiasm soon leveled off into a mental zone of simultaneous peace and intensity, a state of mind that is always required for me to get the job done. This zone of peaceful intensity is where I’m at my best, but I can seemingly only access it through running, whether it’s on a treadmill or outdoors.
With nothing to divert my attention, I became increasingly lost in thought. I imagined the elation of capturing a new PR at the Greater St. Louis Marathon. I recalled the relentless hills of Bowling Green, Kentucky, scene of my worst marathon finish to date. I remembered the physical and mental challenge of running six loops around Forest Park in preparation for my first 50-miler.
Suddenly, the treadmill slowed and stopped, politely interrupting my reverie. An hour had already elapsed, so my machine had dutifully shut itself down. This is an aggravating feature programmed into most fitness center treadmills. I’m rarely finished after 60 minutes. I try to look at it as a forced water break rather than an irritating disruption of my flow.
At this point, my watch showed me at a little over 8 miles, so I decided to restart the machine and at least get to 10. Roughly 15 minutes later I hit the mark, shutting the treadmill off voluntarily this time.
Sometimes I trick myself into believing I can only be successful if the conditions are perfect. Although indoor treadmill running offers a pretty controlled environment, my malfunctioning earbuds forced me to overcome a bit of unexpected adversity. If I had known in advance that I’d have nothing to listen to, it’s likely that I would have used it as an excuse to delay my workout.
Running 10 miles in complete silence tested me mentally, which is exactly what I needed at the time. It is easy to dismiss something like defective earbuds as just another random annoyance, but I think that’s a bit shortsighted.
God saw that I was getting a little too comfortable with my treadmill routine, so he threw me a curveball. That’s what great coaches do. They find innovative and unique ways to challenge us. They turn seemingly mundane occurrences into impactful teaching moments. We all have a heavenly coach. I need to do a better job of listening to mine.