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The Saga of the Treadmill

April 7, 2009

Five Weeks ago: I tell Hubby that I want to lose weight and get in shape.  I suggest that we get a treadmill.  We begin researching treadmills.

Four Weeks Ago: We find a treadmill that we like and order it.  After checking the dimensions, we decide that it will fit in our SUV.  So we save money by having it delivered to the store.

Two Saturdays Ago: Treadmill arrives at store.  We go to pick it up, only to discover that the dimensions on line were wrong.  So we pull the front seats up as far as they can go, load the treadmill in the back and tie down the hatch.  And then we realize that we have pulled the seats up too far for my husband to fit behind the driver’s seat.  Luckily there is a little more room in the passenger’s side, so he maneuvers his way into the vehicle.  His knees are pressed up against the dashboard and the windshield is inches from his face.  I squeeze myself into the driver’s seat.  The steering wheel is practically against my chest and I can’t move my foot from the gas to the break peddles, so I drive with both feet.  We begin the 40 minute trek home, careful to avoid the many potholes and careful to not do anything that could deploy the airbag, killing us instantly.

Finally we arrive home and painfully tumble out of the vehicle and begin to try to unload the treadmill.  I say “try” because, well, on line it said that the treadmill was 150lbs, but what it should have said is that the heaviest part was 150lbs and that the add-on parts were another 75lbs and the packaging added another 50lbs.  So Hubby grabbed his trusty leatherman and cut into the treadmill’s box.  Once the box was open, we began carefully removing random parts from the box so that we could attempt to carry the heaviest part into the house.  Finally we were able to carry the treadmill through the garage and into the basement.  The stairs leading to the main floor taunted us, so we did what any rational person would do and said, “We will deal with this next weekend!”

One Week Ago: Hubby and I both had the day off, so we ran to Home Depot to buy a dolly and bungee cords.   Hubby figured that a dolly would make the daunting task of transporting the treadmill upstairs a bit easier.

Saturday: We loaded the treadmill onto the dolly, bungeed it down and tackled the task at hand.  Hubby pulled.  I pushed.  And in no time we had the treadmill up the stairs and in the hallway.  After a little maneuvering, we got the treadmill into the office.  The phone rang (saved by the bell!) and we decided to head out to dinner and go check on my mom and step-dad who were both in and out of the hospital last week, but that’s for the next post.

Sunday: Hubby grabs is leatherman and begins to assemble our treadmill.  I am in the other room when I hear, “I need a band-aid!”  I grab a band-aid and walk into the office to find blood dripping down my husbands hand and onto his pants and the carpet.  The leatherman (with the help of our cat) decided to practically slice my husband’s finger off.  I am about ready to take him to the hospital for stitches when he says, “Do you think that you can just use butterfly strips?”

You see, Hubby doesn’t like needles at all and will do anything to avoid them.  I tell him to keep pressure on his finger and I drive him, not to the hospital, but to the drug store where I run in and buy the necessary supplies to tend to his still gushing wound.  The necessary supplies being:  peroxide, triple antibiotic, butterfly strips, gauze, tape, paper towels and let’s not forget,Reece’s Pieces (They were there. I was hungry and stressed.  They were needed!)

I run back out to the parking lot, pull open the passenger side door, grab Hubby’s hand and begin dousing it in peroxide to clean it off.  The peroxide temporarily slows the blood flow, so I quickly dry off his hand and slap on the butterflies until the cut is good and closed.  Then I wrapped it in gauze and we waited to see if it would bleed through.  After about 10 minutes there was no seepage, so I drove us home.

Yesterday: I went to change the Hubby’s bandages. I realized that it was my hubby’s swollen, bruised and bloodied hand that I was looking at and since there was no longer a crisis to deal with, I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

Today: The treadmill is still not assembled.

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