Where the hell am I going?

_source

In my last post I mentioned a construct which I refer to as "the treadmill." Placing the intended metaphor on hold for now, in a literal sense, we've likely all found ourselves on or near one of these machines at some point in our lives; probably a few days into the new year, as we promise ourselves (again) to get in shape. If not, you likely understand the concept and how it works.

Here's how I imagine that this relationship between man and machine might play out for many:

~There they are, lined up like a cruel, disciplined robot army, aligned with the purpose of making you miserable. You case the row, trying to figure out which bot you're going to take on. This is an important decision as whichever machine you choose as your treadmill will inevitably become your "favourite," somehow simultaneously qualifying for the role of coach and nemesis, and eventually becoming your excuse for skipping cardio altogether when someone else is using it.

_source

~You step up onto the belt. You lie about your weight when the console prompts you to enter it, in case anyone on the machines next to you is looking, which you're sure they are. You pause momentarily as you consider the Hill Climb setting. You select Quick Start and you're off! Walking.

~"This is easy," you tell yourself. "I can go faster." You pump the up arrow almost feverishly, trying to get up to a more impressive or at least respectable pace. Now you're running and it feels great.

~In some cases, the new relationship lasts. You decide that you don't actually mind running on the treadmill. It's convenient. It's civilized. It's a routine. And, aches and pains and ill effects of long term wear-and-tear due to high impact exercise in unsuitable footwear aside, it's good for you.

~So, you're going to the gym now, regularly. You lift some weights, you go to some classes, you get to know some people, exchanging that odd little upward chin-nod, accompanied by the occasional "Hey..." when you make eye contact. I mean, it's kind of social, I guess. But the whole time you're there you have one eye on the treadmill: your new training buddy. Is it free? How long has she been on it? Did that guy wipe it down after he finished? Should I squeeze in one more set of curls before I hop on? Sure you're at the gym, getting a sweat, doing your thing, but it's all boiling down to that moment you get to slap your towel onto the handrail, decreeing that treadmill (temporarily) yours. A love affair has begun.

_source

But.

~Amidst all of the good you're doing yourself, all the miles you're logging, all of the calories you're burning, all of the personal bests you're achieving, all the ceilings you're blowing through, and even all of the miles you're logging, maybe one day you finally ask the question:

Where the hell am I going?

_source

Now let's revisit that treadmill again as a metaphor for the life we're living. It's a good life. Is it perfect? No, but I'm not sure life can ever be perfect. We all need challenge. We all need success and failure. We all need good memories and things to look forward to. But where is it going?

_source

We all want to enjoy some golden age at the end of our working life. I want it to. But I've come to realize that, financial situation aside, there's a very real chance that I won't get there. And I certainly don't want to let the best years of my life go by while I count down to a time that may never come. I may not be rich but I can tell you one thing with certainty, I know where the hell I am.

Next time I'll fill you in on my backstory and what led to the decision I made to get off my own treadmill. Thanks for reading and I hope you'll come back again.