Once upon a calorie, in the land of Singlehood and Unmatched Socks, I found myself caught in the reflection of a shop window, contemplating the extra layer of love I’d been cushioning myself with. Ah, the blissful union of Netflix, Ben & Jerry’s, and I had started to become a bit, shall we say, visible. The honeymoon phase was over, and it was time to face the music – or in this case, the treadmill.

With determination in my heart and my credit card in hand, I ventured into the world of fitness equipment. Ah, the shiny promises of a toned existence, the visions of running toward a healthier me! The treadmill was bought, assembled, and given a prime spot in my living room. It was not just a piece of exercise equipment; it was a symbol of change, a monument to the fit and fabulous woman I was about to become.

Fast forward a few months, and let me introduce you to the world’s most expensive clothes hanger – my treadmill. There it sits, collecting dust and judgment, a silent reminder of the fitness journey that has yet to begin. I pass it every day, exchanging glances, acknowledging the unspoken promise, and then swiftly moving towards the comfort of my couch.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve had moments of inspiration and fleeting encounters with motivation. I’ve donned the workout gear, laced up the sneakers, and stepped on that treadmill with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning. But, somehow, the allure of a brisk walk in the same spot seemed to lose its charm rather quickly. Who would’ve thought?

In my defense, I have been extremely consistent in thinking about working out. Every scoop of ice cream comes with a side of “I really should hit the treadmill,” and every lazy Sunday afternoon is accompanied by a guilt-laden glance toward the unused monument of fitness.

I’ve had heart-to-hearts with my treadmill, apologizing for the neglect, and promising a better tomorrow. I’ve draped it in clothes, almost as if disguising its true purpose would alleviate the guilt. And through it all, the treadmill stands there, patient and non-judgemental, waiting for the day I finally decide to embark on our fitness journey together.

In the grand adventure of single life, my unused treadmill has become a character of its own, a silent companion in my daily sitcom. It’s seen the dance parties for one, heard the off-key singing, and witnessed the culinary experiments gone wrong. It’s become a part of my story, a symbol of good intentions and procrastinated plans.

So, here’s to the unused treadmill, the extra layer of love, and the adventures yet to come! Here’s to embracing the quirks, laughing at the mishaps, and cherishing the journey – one unused treadmill and a scoop of ice cream at a time!