Midwest Memo
Walking in place
by Alan Shultz

Most mornings these days I have a date with the rumbling, tumbling treadmill that sits off to one side in the gym where I have a membership.

There are three other treadmills grouped together as you enter the workout room. On any given morning it's on two of those three treadmills you'll find Hazel and Parker busy walking and talking. These two always beat me no matter how early the hour is when I arrive. Both Hazel and Parker are retired so I wonder what the big rush is to hit the rubber pavement - so to speak.

Hazel wears earphones and she calls Parker and me "the boys." I kind of like it. The day she first used that expression I knew I was in.

"Well, I'll leave it to you boys now," Hazel says when she leaves, waving her arm high in the air. Then she goes off and has coffee and talks to Maria who supervises the place. Hazel always leaves her pink beaded purse and her house keys on a little table near Maria's desk in the front lobby. The spot is near the ping pong table, right out in the open, but no one seems to bother the stuff. We all know when Hazel is on deck.

Maybe folks just know not to mess with Hazel.

Hazel and Parker talk to each other via the floor to ceiling mirrors that surround the treadmill area. This conversation takes place exactly like the one you have from your chair at the barber or beauty shop. I never know exactly where to look into the mirror during these conversations. It just confuses me. Do you lock on the eyes, or the mouth?

That's why I head for the loner treadmill, the one off away from the mirrors. I don't want to watch myself walking. And I don't want to talk via the mirror. Exactly what are you supposed to look at when you're not having the mirror conversation? I wind up watching my feet which seems an odd way to start the day.

The treadmill has its hazardous aspects. My friend John took a tumble on the very machine I use. He hasn't got back on the thing since.

If you follow the directions, the treadmill comes with a little break away cord that connects you and the machine. The thing turns off if the connection is broken. I've jostled the cord by mistake a couple of times and it sure works - you come to a lurching, screeching, attention-getting stop.

I love the rhythm of my treadmill. For weeks I thought it only moved to 4/4 time. In the beginning, for some unknown reason, Bach's "Ode to Joy" played over and over in my head. But since then I see that I can actually choose the "rhythm" I feel from the machine. I can put the music count in my head on three steps and use the fourth step as a pause. That way I move out of 4/4 time.

When I walk on the treadmill I like to listen to the music in my head, rather than wearing earphones. Otherwise, I'm afraid I'd get distracted by the music and then I'd get catapulted head over heels somewhere over near Hazel and Parker.

The music in my head is much more pleasant to listen to than the arguments I occasionally have with myself. I used to do the argument in the head thing when I mowed the lawn on the riding lawnmower. I'd rehash old wounds and missteps and I'd get myself boiling mad. It nearly landed me in the drainage ditch many a time.

But old walkers can learn new ways. So I stay with the music in my head, picking my rhythm, and looking straight ahead.

Yesterday the "loner" treadmill was in use when I arrived. So I hopped on next to Hazel, one over from Parker.And I'm hear to tell you - after a good long extended look at my gym shoes, I'm needing a new pair.