Treadmills...

Really.. what’s the point of these things?  People spend hundreds of dollars on a machine that takes you no where.  

When I lived in Musana’ah I spent some time on a treadmill.. looking out at the pool and the beach.  Boring.. but, maybe worth the trouble.. it brought me to Vassi.  I mean.. I think that’s a good thing.   

A treadmill.  It’s hard work and going slow, walking, means time too crawls by.  You walk and watch the timer.. Beatrice, my chubby friend in Oman, would go for an hour.  It would take her an hour and she was still in the same place.  I had to run: fifteen or twenty minutes was enough for me.  

Well, jog actually.  I am not sure that I have ever ‘run’ anywhere! Jogging on a treadmill means you go no place even faster. 

Mom and dad inherited a treadmill from my aunt Irene: dad’s sister.  She bought it as therapy: I am not sure it was used all that much.  And after she passed mom and dad inherited the huge machine.. and didn’t use it at their place.


And their kids weren't allowed to use it.. heavens forbid we break it... or something.  

Last summer it sat in the living room of their place, and we used it as a ‘hitching post’ for Peaches.  We tied her to it so she wouldn’t bother us during dinner.

But the other day it was raining, and the walk to the coffee shop just wasn't that inviting.  No problem, Dad suggested we help him get on the treadmill.

Now don’t forget my father has had a stroke.  He can’t walk.  His left side has never really regained full function, but he is a determined fellow. 

His chair is remotely controlled and at the press of a button and it lifts him into an upright position.  From there he can grab ‘the pole’: one of two posts positioned to assist him in and out of his wheel chair.  

“You’re left foot Jack.  Move it back.  Not that one, you’re other one.”

Old joke, but hey, it’s no joke.  It’s how it works at mom's place.  Under the direction of family, mostly mom, dad can do pretty much anything. The idea to get on the tread mill is all his though! 

It takes a while to get things set up, but once he is there, and holding firmly on to the hand rails, the start button is pushed and my father, who practiced standing for 30 seconds at a time about this time last year, starts to walk.  At 2 ½ minutes he is exhausted and mom says he is allowed to take a break. 


I put it on Pause.  Just 30 seconds later he works at another 2 ½ minutes, this one obviously a lot harder, and at the end of it struggles to get off: a five minute work out takes about fifteen minutes and dad is exhausted and is off to dreamland: thanks to the treadmill!   

Mom and I were in Vancouver last week.  The cardiac specialists didn’t seem too worried about a pulse rate of 36 until he put her on a treadmill. 


It was a student that hooked her up: a mature student with a younger technition watching over the procedure.  They stuck tape all over her chest and then atached wires, which fed information to a computer.  I got to watch, although it was pretty dull.  Nothing much happened except mom got tired.. I now that because I know my mother, and she told us.  Her respirations hardly changed, no huffing and puffing for my mother.  And her pulse rate barely reached a high of 38bpm.  

“I aced that” she says to me afterward. 

“I don’t think so mom”  I couldn't imagine working that hard and not breathing at least a little heavier! 

The doctor read the print out and said there appeared to be a problem. He strongly suggested that mom get a pace maker and she agreed with him.


The treadmill has taken her on a repeat trip to the hospital next week to get the little device installed. 

Apparently she’ll feel much better once that is in place: she’ll have more energy.


OMG.. 

Someone suggested that for my mother at least, it should come with an off/on switch, or at least a ‘slow’ button: she still has more energy than any of her kids! 

Tread mills… maybe they do take you somewhere.