The humungulous carton my treadmill was delivered in today is probably something I should keep, in case I ever need a place to live. I’d hate to lose my house in the country, but I think I could set this box under the freeway overpass and have room for the occasional visitor. I know I’ll fit, because I had to crawl halfway inside it as I was getting all the parts and pieces out.

However, that’s all my treadmill is at the moment: parts and pieces. I’ve shown a photo of the upright case to anyone who would look, silently (or not so silently) pleading for a little help (which, I believe, is forthcoming, whether I deserve it or not). We had a combined family birthday (for Eric and me) tonight at John and Suzanne’s, and I feel confident I’ll get some kind of assistance long before I’m actually ready to step on the treadmill.

As for the birthday dinner, it was great fun. Aiden insisted on singing the “you look like a monkey” version of the happy birthday song to both of us (he thinks he’s funny, and he’s right), and we each blew out some candles. Not as many candles as our years, which if you combine our ages would require 91 candles and a fire permit, and way more breath than I, for one, could possibly muster after downing three tacos and a flagon of rosé wine. (Or was it four tacos and a carafe?)

Ever since I knew I was getting the treadmill, I’ve been slacking off on my regular workout routine. This is sort of typical, like when I stop working a week before going on vacation, or eat everything in sight in the days leading up to Thanksgiving. Will power isn’t my strong suit, but I’m highly motivated to make good use of the treadmill, at some point in the near future. Right now, though, just getting it out of the box is all the workout I can handle.