Death by Treadmill

Daily Stats
Words: 1000
Caffeine: morning cup + midmorning cappuccino + late afternoon iced mocha
Evil Calories: waffles for dinner (yes, I'm seven. I was wearing my Wonderwoman Underoos too.)
Reality TV: American Idol

My treadmill tried to kill me. It tried to make me run to death. I don't mean this in a metaphorical sense. It literally went all Christine on me. I usually walk for three minutes, then kick up the speed to a nice comfy 4.5 to run. Well, today, as I was pressing the "speed up" button, it went into some sinister, super secret, deadly Terminator 2: Judgement Day mode. It suddenly jumped from 4.0 to 6. I was forced to run like a mad woman with her shorts on fire, as if I was in mortal fear of my own ass. I tried to reach the off button, but I was too far back on the belt. I was seconds away from becoming my own B horror slasher flick. Any moment my legs would explode in a bloody mess and I'd get sucked under the belt. This is not how I want to die. End up on the 5:00 news. I can just hear it now. "In a freak accident today, a slow, fat ass woman was eaten by her treadmill. She was found in a pile on her family room floor still plugged into her iPod which was blaring Justin Timberlake." Embarrassing on many levels.

So I did the only thing I could do. I jumped. In retrospect, I do not recommend this. Did you know Berber vaporizes flesh when one travels at hyper speed across it? Currently I am traumatized and am considering dropping my current project to begin work on a book about a satanic treadmill. The title will simply be Shit!