Semi-Nude with My Mistress in the Garage.

For those of you who've never read anything I've posted previously, and have only stopped here because of my captivating title, you're going to be very disappointed, very, very fast.

I'm using the term "mistress" as I've used it before, and not to mean some sultry babe who is just waiting to shower me with her affections.

You see, we just got a treadmill.

I know that some of you couldn't care less about treadmills - and at this time of year, I don't really either, as the majority of my runs are done outside. However, the opportunity arose to buy a treadmill reallllly cheap ( my sister had one and she's moving - it's barely used and I got a sweet deal on it.) and since my Wife is not the outdoors-type guy that I am and would like to have a chance to get some exercise in while in the comfort of our home, I couldn't pass it up. (Somehow Netflix is something she feels is necessary to achieve her fitness goals.)

I picked up the treadmill last night, but just shoved it in the garage until today. This morning I got it positioned, plugged in, and decided to give it a test run. I put my gear on, threw some Foo Fighters into the sound system and hopped on.

...and hopped off again right away.

Much like a regular mistress, this one needed a bit of fine-tuning before I could see what she could do - I should have known that you can't just jump on and go anymore - this isn't high school after all, right? After perusing the instruction manual I tightened the belt, adjusted the rollers and everything was as smooth as glass.

It wasn't a bad run - just a nice and easy 5k to see what it was like, but there was one thing I didn't think about - it's July, it's hot, and I'm in my garage.

Holy shit did I sweat a lot.

If you recall, I'm a sweater when I work out. But the sheer volume coming off me as I ran was amazing even to me. The thinking man would have cracked a window or door before starting, but I believe we've established that I'm only a thinking man part-time, so we shouldn't be suprised that I didn't.

What I did do was something I've never done before, and will probably never repeat unless I'm locked once again in my garage, away from prying eyes.

I took off my shirt.

Let me make a few things clear on the subject of shirt removal and exercise:

• As a former fatty, I never take my shirt off during any activity - I just don't.
• I think guys who run with no shirt on are douchebags. It's an immediate assumption, and I'm usually right 98% of the time.

But holy shit, was I hot. Sure, I could have stopped, but I look at anything less than a 5k run as giving up. If I can't spare 24 or so minutes of my time and my legs aren't broken, why stop?

So I took off my shirt.

BAM. World Changer.

Suddenly I wasn't just running any more - I was part of the primal hunter group. I wasn't striding on a treadmill in my garage with shorts on - I was bounding across the plain, chasing buffaloes through the tall grass, clad only in a loincloth and waiting for the opportune time to hurl my spear.

I'm lucky my water bottle was out of reach or I may have ended up chucking it at one of the kid's bikes.

I can now see the fascination of running shirtless. despite what the garment industry says about technical fabrics and their wicking abilities, it's a huge temperature difference without a shirt and feels much cooler. It's also very freeing, and just feels natural.

Will I ever do it while out for a run on the Seawalk? Hell no, but in the sheltered comfort of my own home, it just may be possible.







Later.