I've Seen Hell. And Folks, It Ain't Pretty.

I've been reading a few books about hell lately.  I'm sure my therapist (if I had one) would have a heyday with that statement, but anyway.

And I'm pretty sure that the reason Jesus used the description of the town's refuse burning  surrounded by wild vicious dogs was because that was the best analogy He had at the time to explain to the 1st century Israelites what hadn't even been invented yet.

Rows of exercise equipment at the local YMCA.

I am convinced that hell is neither a lake of fire, or freezing cold, or just being alone all by yourself.

It's pedaling on an elliptical machine.

Where the "time remaining" says "eternity" and the "elapsed time" always says "0:00."  Where there is one green column about three rows in lit up that NEVER moves.  Where you burn no calories, accumulate no miles, and never increase or decrease your stride rate.

How did I come by this "epiphany," you ask?

Well, I'm planning to run a half-marathon in April.  And somewhere along the way, the back of my right leg got mad at me and decided that if I was stupid enough to run with it, it was stupid enough to give me the business the entire time.  So I stopped running and made an appointment with my voo-doo chiropractor in Wichita--who couldn't see me for a week.

Well, the problem is, if I want a prayer of finishing this race at all, I have to log miles.  I can't take a week off.  So my option is the elliptical machine, which my leg will do for seven miles without a single complaint.  Which is at the YMCA.

Now, I love to run.  But I hate stationary exercise equipment of any kind.  It makes me want to jump out of my skin.  So I will layer up and run in snow, rain, 22 degree weather, wind, whatever to avoid a treadmill.

I can't stand the visual distractions of the TV--the three different channels going at once.  I can't stand the lights and numbers on the readout that mock me the entire time with how little I've done and how far I have to go.  So I play games with myself.  I tell myself that I won't look at the screen until I've gone through three songs on my playlist.

So I look around.  And I notice the disgusting brown spot on the carpet and try not to think about why it's there or how it got there.  I notice the man sweating profusely on the machine next to mine and pray that the machines are placed far enough apart and the fans are blowing at optimum angle and speed to keep his sweat from hitting me.  Because if it does, I will vomit.  I'm a (wee bit) competitive, so I'm also straining my neck muscles trying to see how fast and how far the twig on the treadmill a few machines away is going.  I wonder if I could take her. I make a colossal mistake and look in the mirror.  So now it's back to the TV.

Ellen is on, and she's interviewing Amanda Seyfried.  From what I can tell, Amanda has knitted Ellen a hat.  Ellen asked Amanda when she has time to knit, and Amanda tells her, "When I'm on the elliptical machine."

Are. You. Kidding. Me???

I can't take a drink of water on the thing without feeling like I'm going to fall off, or choke, or both.

Three songs are finally done.  I can look at the screen.  It's telling me to "pedal forward."  Shoot!  In my efforts to try to avoid "readout insanity,"  I completely missed the instruction to "pedal backward."  I'm sure that I've completely ruined my workout now.  There won't be any positive benefit at all.  I should've just stayed home, read a good book, and eaten mint M&Ms.

And I look at the "time left" display.  It reads "Eternity...