I came home from work yesterday, just like I do any other Monday. I generally skip a long lunch at work so that I can get home before DH and the kids in order to run on the treadmill before they get home. It might not be the ideal solution, but the alternative of waking up at 5 AM to run, just hasn’t seemed palatable to me for the last few years. My routine is to get the mail, throw 99% of the mail directly into the trash because it is inevitably junk mail, put away my work gear (lunch cooler bag, the messenger bag I carry my laptop in, etc.), then head upstairs to change into treadmill running clothes. What are treadmill running clothes you ask? They are the same as outdoor summer running clothes, with the absence of a shirt to go over my sports bra. Shorts, a sports bra, socks, and lately a zip up hooded sweatshirt to keep me from freezing for the first 2-3 minutes of my run (it is wicked cold in our basement), complete my standard wardrobe. Yesterday, however, I had to wear a shirt as well because the person who is helping us with the basement project was there working. All of a sudden my space had been invaded. I briefly contemplated running after he left, but the reality that the kids would intrude upon my run flashed upon me so I sucked it up and ran anyway.
Years ago I didn’t have my own treadmill, but used the treadmills at the health club. I never had a problem with the fact that others would perhaps catch a glimpse of me running, but in my own home it just feels like a violation. DH told me that I’m being a big baby, and he is most likely right. I’m sure I will get over it soon enough. I don’t know why it bothers me so much, but I do know that on a recent work trip I was stuck on a hotel treadmill in a room that had mirrors on two walls. Watching my own self run on the treadmill was more than horrifying. Here I was, running, improving my fitness, but faced with the reality of my jiggly thighs all I could think about was how I should have avoided that cookie at lunch. I now have that mental image of my thighs whenever I think that anyone else is watching me run on a treadmill (outside I’ve concluded everybody looks better, and I honestly don’t give it a second thought). Stupid mirrors, why on earth would anyone want to watch themselves running on a treadmill?