This letter is long over due. Aside from one little tune up, you have faithfully executed your duties without so much as even a minor complaint without fail for 4 years now.
You've been with me through 3 marathons, 2 soon to be 3 halfs, and a slew of other races. You've accompanied me on runs far greater I'm sure than your creators ever intended, many runs 15 miles or more, even one 20 mile run when the weather just refused to cooperate. Despite these unholy distances for a treadmill, you stuck with me stride for stride only stopping mere seconds to catch your breath at 100 minutes as I reset the console.
But you've tolerated with just as much grace those days when running just wasn't in the cards. You were ready to do your job, but I wasn't ready to do mine. Kids, injury, illness or a desperate need for sleep got in the way. Just as quickly as I hit the start button, I would step off leaving you with no runner to train.
When on occasion I'd bring along a certain uninvited 4 year old guest whom you certainly knew would hamper our run, you never complained and your ability to maintain composure under the pressure of that child's waning attention span is nothing less than impressive. From maternity clothes to skinny jeans, you've seen me through without accolades, medals, your own technical race t-shirt or even so much as even a thank-you. Never once have you had the opportunity to cross the finish line yourself, yet still you are satisfied.
But I fear now that the end may be near. This morning when I stepped on for my last run before the half this weekend, your belt was slipping and not just a little. After two attempts at running, the risk of injury from unstable footing was far too great. I hope you understand, I was forced to run outdoors.
Perhaps this was just a fluke. Or perhaps you too are in need of rest from time to time. Maybe just another tune up is in order. I don't know. But if our time together is drawing to a close, and you're ready to go onto to that great fitness center in the sky, please know I will think back fondly on our time together. I'll never forget your dual cup holders, your in-console fans, and your hill mimicking incline. I'll carry memories of your teeny little track with me always.
Rest assured my dear friend, when that time finally comes, I'll do my best to move on and find some other treadmill. Not right away of course, but I know you'd want it that way. It'll be hard and no treadmill will ever be the same, but in your honor, I'll find the strength... **sniff sniff**... somehow.
Your Running Friend,
P.S. I can give you next week off as I take it easy recovering from the half with just a few short runs I can squeak in outdoors, but then I need to get back to it. So not to be pushy or anything, but I'd really like to know if you're salvageable by the end of next week. Thanks.