This is not a treadmill. This is my time machine…

Image“This is not a treadmill.  This is my time machine.  When I’m on it, I see the future.  And I see me in it.”  I started to say that to myself yesterday as I ran.  It has become my mantra.  Yesterday I ran farther than I have ever run before.  Three miles in under thirty minutes has become my standard run.  Yesterday I decided to do it twice.  I ran 3.06 miles in thirty minutes, then took about a two minute break to stretch and get some water.  I ran another 3.07 miles in thirty minutes.

The longest I had ever gone before was five miles.  As I approached and then passed five miles, I was thrilled to know that each step I took was pushing my boundaries.  Every step I took was pushing me a little further than I thought possible.  At the same time though, I was getting tired.  I was keeping the same pace, but I wasn’t picking up my legs as high as I had been.  It was getting more and more difficult to control my breath.  I knew I wanted to reach six miles, but I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to do it.

And then I said it.  “This is not a treadmill,” I whispered to myself.  “This is my time machine.  When I’m on it, I see the future.  And I see me in it.”  I kept going.  I turned off the little TV monitor, and could see my face in the black screen.

“This is not a treadmill…” I said again in barely a whisper.  With every step I was redefining who I was.  With every step I was transforming.  With every step I was leaving behind a less healthy me.  “This is my time machine…”  I said again, this time a little louder.  Someone standing next to me might have heard, but I was alone.

I passed five and half miles, and knew that the end was getting closer.  I was getting stronger.  I felt energy surge through my body.  “When I’m on it, I see the future…”  I said out loud now.  And I saw it.

I saw first days of school.  I saw softball games and ballet recitals.  I saw slumber parties and Phillies hats at Wrigley Field.  I saw broken hearts and mean boys.  I saw high school basketball and halftime dances.  I saw first loves and Prom.  I saw piles of books, messy desks, and graduation gowns.  I kept running, and turned up the speed on the treadmill.

I saw silver streaks in the hair of my wife, and wisdom wrinkling her eyes.  I saw light in her eyes, felt the warmth of her smile, and was briefly taken back to the first time I saw her, the first time we kissed.

“And I see me in it,” I was almost shouting now. I felt the same flutter in my heart that I did 15 years ago, but now it has depth.  I saw her clutching my hand as we drive away from a dorm.  I saw her fixing the veil she wore on the head of our daughters.  I saw myself dancing with a beautiful woman in white to Isn’t She Lovely, and with another to Lucy in the Sky.  I saw babysitting and storytelling.  I saw ravioli cutting with another generation, crowded laps, and adventures I cannot even imagine.

Running as fast as my legs could take me, I passed six miles.  The time on the treadmill ran out, so I slowed.  I wiped off some sweat, maybe a couple of tears, and then I stepped off the treadmill.  Only it isn’t a treadmill.  It is a time  machine.  When I’m on it, I see the future.  And I see me in it.

Follow The Fat Pastor on Facebook

Follow on Twitter

4 Comments

Filed under Fitness

4 responses to “This is not a treadmill. This is my time machine…

  1. MaryLynne

    You go! God bless you, and your future with your wife and girls. (with tears in my eyes)

  2. Jane Dzelzitis

    I will try to remember to say that mantra as I struggle to get my 1.3 miles in 20 minutes each morning. At 79, it is not so easy to walk so fast.

  3. Sue F

    This was beautiful. I relived the past and can also see the future in your words. Blessings today and always. SF

  4. John C

    Great post!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s