why the treadmill is basically my worst enemy

So, treadmills. Let me just say, it’s the modern-day torture device masquerading as a friendly piece of exercise equipment that sits in gyms and whispers lies about how running in place is somehow productive. I mean, who really wants to stare at the same wall or a bunch of TVs blaring some celebrity gossip while trudging like a hamster? It’s the least inspiring thing ever. And this whole 12-3-30 craze? Twelve incline? Because it’s not enough that I’m already exhausted mentally just looking at this monstrosity of a machine—they insist on turning it into Everest. The so-called “cozy cardio” almost made me laugh, but I’m too annoyed to even manage that.

Seriously, walking uphill at 3 mph for 30 minutes is just a way for people to measure how much they hate themselves today. Must be really cozy to feel the burn in every single muscle in your legs while your pride simultaneously takes a nosedive. The sweat pouring down my face could fill buckets by the time this infernal workout ends, and yet it convinces everyone they’re doing some kind of service to their body—yeah, right. The peace of the outdoors replaced with mechanical droning? No thanks.

Alright, maybe I’m missing something crucial here. Maybe the secret lies in enduring mind-numbing boredom while getting sweaty because that’s considered dedication these days. I’d rather trip over an actual hill than become another zombie trudging away on these treadmills that should probably be banned as an act of public decency in gyms worldwide. Whatever.