Morton’s, McDonald’s and an Easy-Bake Oven
Currently, I’m on an exercise protocol that necessitates an accessible treadmill every other day. While I was visiting family on the East Coast, depending on which gym was open, I was either at the North Providence Rec Center or Brown University’s Nelson Fitness Center. The difference between the two was like McDonald’s and Morton’s. As I’m fairly low-brow, I preferred the former to the latter. The Rec Center’s treadmills, all three of them, were definitely broken in. You couldn’t go past thirty minutes without the machines shutting off automatically. To increase speed or incline, you had to kind of stab at the worn buttons and sometimes it would overshoot — look out! But the cranky crack-up of a New Englander who monitored the floor was great. She would circle her flatlander self around the equipment, barking at the machines and shaking her head when they didn’t cooperate. It had a familiar vibe. The fitness center, as it were, overlooked a small pool and nearly always it was swim lesson for the toddlers. Hovering Moms, tiny forms toddling about and a very patient swim instructor provided great entertainment. The muffled shrieks and little waving arms of humans that were not my responsibility, proved a great distraction for these hour-long treks. The locker room blew icy air, but the showers were so hot I could have lived in one and remained happy forever.
McDonald’s was closed on the weekends. So occasionally I’d get a guest pass to Morton’s — a 10,000 square foot multi-purpose fitness loft with a literal fleet of ooh la la treadmills. The loft overlooked a pool so huge I got lost just looking at it. Since it was Brown, for unknown reasons that totally tracked, there was a creepy half-formed mannequin wrapped in black cloth standing at the ready to greet all the swimmers upon entry. For years on their lower Quad, the University had a ginormous fugly bear that sat poised to eat passerbys, complete with googly blue button eyes. Maybe you need to be an art-teest to understand these creative endeavors — as for me I beat feet back to the fancy treadmills, convinced the mannequin was close behind.
These mills were a sight to behold. Want to WhatsApp with a friend? Feel like binging Ozark? Interested in your stock’s current market value? Options galore! What about checking out scenes from around the world at the touch of a button? If you know how to access it, they’ve got ’em. And since each machine is lined up next to the same exact model, you could always do both. Multitasking made easy. I did like the fan option. Nothing like a little cool air to cut through the hell that is the East Coast humidity, ad nauseum.
Once I arrived in the Hudson Valley, I stayed with a friend who had a treadmill and was very excited not to have to schlep to any more gyms. Just roll right out of bed, hop on and get it done. But the first time I laid eyes on the “machine,” I thought maybe it was a practical joke. As I stood and stared, the questions people ask me about my Smart car ran through my head. Is it real? Do you wind it up to go? Is it like a Flinstone’s car? It looked like a Fischer-Price toy and my feet did have to kind of coax the track along. 5.0 was barely 4.0. Watching the miles spike up to six after just thirty minutes was a blast! Running on it wasn’t an option, as it shook so hard the sole cup-holder popped off and I thought the rest of it might fall apart. No screen, no pulse reader, not even a little ledge to prop my water bottle or phone. When needed, I’d carefully bend over a chair for my accessories — a good litmus test for core balance, especially at the pseudo speed of 6.2 mph. From Moton’s to an Easy-Bake Oven of a treadmill, and I took to it immediately. Nothing beats convenience. And getting that make believe 6–8 miles under my belt each time was a great ego boost! By the end of my stay, and eighty miles later, I was in love.
