Wednesday, April 28, 2010

R.I.P.

My treadmill died last night.

His name was Wes (short for Weslo Cadence, 340 CS the Third). He was a good treadmill.

I bought Wes eight years ago when I first entertained the notion running might be a fun thing to do. I didn't spend a lot of money on him since I wasn't sure how much time we'd be spending together. In fact, I think I even bought him on clearance, knowing I'd feel less guilty about wasting the money on him when he turned into a storage shelf within three months.

Wes never did become a storage shelf, nor even a clothes hanger. Wes lived out the days of his life being precisely what he was meant to be.

At first, I didn't put many demands on Wes. We were just getting to know each other, after all, and I didn't want to scare him off prematurely. I'd go for a trot a few times a week and call it good. But as time went on, Wes and I became much more intimately connected. Soon we found ourselves spending hours upon hours together. We were like Bonnie and Clyde, except there weren't any bank robberies involved. Wes never complained and he never failed. He just kept churning away as slow or as fast as my legs demanded.

Wes's demise came on suddenly. In retrospect, I believe it was an act of mercy as I think he knew I wouldn't be able to handle watching him suffer for very long. We were halfway into an hour-long tempo run when he started coughing and sputtering. I was surprised and confused but after a few minutes, I knew what was happening. The sorrowful gravity of the moment I had long dreaded gripped ahold of me. I was going to have to put Wes down and I was going to have to do it within the next 27 minutes.

Those final moments were painful and heartrending. Ever the allegiant companion, Wes courageously writhed forward in agony. I willingly followed at his own pace, whispering words of comfort and urging him to go towards the light.

I spent the final minute of Wes' existence gripping the handrails, dripping sweat on the console and breathlessly expressing my gratitude for all he had done for me. When I mercifully turned him off and unplugged him for the last time, my heart runneth over as I imagined a host of little naked, winged angels carrying him away to a happier place.

Thank you, Wes. I am a better runner because of you.

13 comments:

Mel said...

LOL and crying at the same time!!! RIP Wes.

See... there is never an end to the creative blog posts inside your head. Thanks for sharing your talent with us again!

Kristyn said...

LOVE IT! You are so funny. Sorry your treadmill died. That stinks!

Broseph said...

Wow! He lived to be exactly what he was meant to be. What an inspiration! Haha! You are good! RIP Wes!

shellyrm aka jogging stroller mama said...

I don't have the right words but I know your pain. He's in a better place. When is the service? Will it be open or closed casket?

I am sure that memorial contributions would be appropriate. What charity should we send them to?

TNTcoach Ken said...

Sorry to hear about Wes. Did he have an organ donation card, so that other mills could live?????

Jen said...

My condolences. This is a wonderful tribute.

Funnyrunner said...

LOL. Love the picture. sorry about Wes. My treadmill is now 14 years old (a testament, I think, to my not using it much) and has no digital readout anymore. If I use it I have no idea how fast or far I'm going. lol.

Michael said...

RIP Wes. :>) M

robison52 said...

Eight years is a pretty long life for a treadmill that's used for running...you got your money's worth!! RIP Wes.

WendyBird said...

ROFLOL, thanks for the laugh. Bummer to be without a TM for a while. I hope you can get a fantastic one to console you :-)

Ovens2Betsy said...

Angie, I am so sorry for your loss. I'm so glad you were able to be there for Wes's last moments. I'm sure it was tough to witness, but he probably took a lot of comfort knowing you were there.

We had to put our dear kitty down a couple of months ago (it was truly heart-breaking), but we now have a couple of kittens bringing joy back into our lives. Perhaps you could bring in a couple of hamster wheels to lessen the pain (they're so cute at that age; while they won't fully replace Wes, they will definitely bring entertainment).

joeyb said...

Hey, at least you didn't have to take out a gun and put him out of his misery. Ouch. I can't believe I said that.

Excellent Marathon Adventure said...

Too funny! Found your blog at Run Like a Mother site; will be back to visit!

Jenn