There you stand in my crowded garage
Between plastic bins and file cabinet lodged.
Chrome and rubber and plastic
whispering promises of a body fantastic.
“Walk! Run ! Jog!” I hear you call from afar.
“You spend too much time sitting in the car.”
So I pull on a t-shirt, the Nikes I lace
Step on the rubber mat, gonna make my heart race.
To pass the time, I watch Bones on Netflix
My inspiration some skinny young chicks.
I adjust the speed, faster, and faster I go
Getting into the rhythm of the treadmill flow.
Look at me!
I’m trying to burn today’s calories.
But the meter reads only one hundred and three!
Heart pumpin’, calves burning, startin’ to sweat
Probably haven’t even burned off my latte I bet.
Time is passing sloooooow
and I’ve got no where to go.
Faster. Slower. Flat or incline
Minutes passed–only nine!
Pretend you’re a jock!
Forty minutes later, the torture is complete.
My legs hurt, got blisters on my feet.
I’ll see you tomorrow, I promise the treadmill
And, you know, I probably will.
But maybe the next day, or the day after that
Cause I really do have to lose some of this fat.
I write this bad poem in fun and in jest
But I actually do my very best.
Just wish there was an easier way to stay svelte
then to walk-run-jog on a big rubber belt.