Let me tell you about how I almost died on the treadmill tonight ... and not by throwing a blood clot to my lung (thank the Lord, I was praying the whole time).
There I was, just running along on the treadmill at a nice, easy pace, jamming out to a little Joss Stone and people watching down below on the sidewalk, when none other than the treadmill monster jumped out and grabbed me, making me trip over my feet and almost bust it right in front of everyone. Lucky for me, I happened to have cat-like reflexes and caught myself right before my face was permanently imprinted into the germ-coated floor.
Whew, recovered from that one.
With a 1/2 mile left to run, I thought I'd pick up the pace a little. Where my head was, I don't know. Maybe I left it back at clinic with my last patient of the day, very young teenager, who needed birth control. Or maybe I left it in my car this morning when I reached over to throw my ice scraper on the floor (seriously, I have had to scrape ice off my car way too often this winter living in SC--and my ice scraper must have been built back when my grandparents were my age, because it definitely doesn't work) and knocked my entire cup of coffee onto my floor and gym bag. Or maybe I left it in bed, where I might should have stayed a little longer today.
Anyway, wherever my head was, it was not focused on the fact that when I went to increase the speed on the treadmill, I just kept my finger on the button, all the way up to 8-something. My legs do not run at 8-something. I was almost a pancake on the other side of the gym wall. Smashed. Cat-like reflexes save me again, but I'm certain not before the people next to me decided I should take a treadmill-f0r-dummies class.
Good news, I made it out alive. Even better news, I was actually supposed to run 2 miles but forgot and ran 3. Not so good news, P90X ab ripper is really hard when you have neglected your midsection for months on end.