I had an opportunity to meet
Mr. Treadmill
who’s been hanging out
at my sister’s house
for quite awhile.


He’s become
a bit outclassed these days
when digital treadmill-speak
is in many languages.


This one only spoke English
and he said to me:
“If you hop on for half an hour
I’ll tell you a thing or two
that might interest you
even though my heart monitor
doesn’t keep score any more”.


So I gave up walking on the beach
which is hardly exercise
especially if one gathers shells
and his feet sink into the sand
leaving footprints
for the tide to wash away.


I hopped on, and sure enough,
my stride was being measured.
What intrigued me most
was how many calories I burned
in thirty minutes: seventy-five

All this before I even had
a glass of orange juice!


My distance came in at
about a mile and a half —
a little disappointing, but likely
more accurate than my guessing
when I move amidst palm trees
and little man-made lakes
and over wooden bridges.


Mr. Treadmill challenged me
to increase my speed
and even offered me
some hills to climb — but I declined
preferring to take on a little rhyme.
and at another time.

And now the time has come
to exercise my fingertips
and pick my brain
and share with you some intimacies
believing you’ll consider me
a little bit crazy .

But my insanity is mild
as I attempt to write
a little poetry.

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