What's Up Doc?

The laughter is at once both obnoxious and mocking. What was to fill a room with jubilant exertion is now a charcoal grey object of condescension. The stationary rubber belt stutters with a disdainful snit at the push of a button. Another scornful snicker and this loathsome treadmill’s welcome will be worn thin.


It is a worn out welcome indeed. The desire to be thin and in shape has turned into a manic practice in the United States. One hears the words “obese” or “fat” and there is a mad dash to the nearest sporting goods store for the latest in weight loss equipment. The treadmill -- the most convenient and logical choice -- is purchased. Once it’s nestled in its new room, the games begin. It’s there to kick-start a body’s metabolism and boost moral within a person’s psyche. But for those that lose more interest than weight, the treadmill becomes a symbol of mockery and failure. The frantic battle of flub and chub versus svelte machine is reminiscent of the classic Warner Brother’s cartoons starring a rabbit and a hunter who speaks with a lisp.


Elmer Fudd is Warner Brother’s champion of failed endeavors and speech impediments. No matter how he tries, Elmer is continually outwitted and maliciously teased by Bugs Bunny. It is the nature of their existence to play against one another. Where Elmer is floppy and awkward, Bugs is quick and graceful. Elmer is the yin to Bug’s yang, and so it goes for me and my treadmill. Exercise is no longer an option. This has become a war. It is a battle of wits, not survival of the fittest.


At the sounding alarm of dawn, one must be ready for battle. Every morning it’s the same old routine; keep as quiet as a whisper and walk on tip-toes. “Shush, we’re avoiding treadmill,” is the thought as one peaks around the corner on their way to the basement to start the laundry. Each small step is taken as though crossing a room filled with landmines. Midway, there’s the sensation of no longer traveling alone. A glance to left, another to the right, and yet another over the shoulder; there’s nothing there. Just shrug it off, and keep going. Then there’s a tap on the shoulder, with a glance toward the tap, BAM! Foiled again! The treadmill, in the spirit of chomping carrots and “What’s up doc,” has planted itself in the line of fire once more. It can’t wink. The treadmill can’t kiss a person on the cheek any more than it can gaily skip away, but it feels like it did just that.
Of course the treadmill had never moved from its spot in the room, but I couldn’t escape the image of that silly rabbit hopping away with a good laugh. The very sight of that immobile machine filled my heart with humiliated shame. And, as the treadmill continued to taunt me from its corner of the room, the guilt of my avoidance was no more escapable than a Wascally Wabbit in the woods.
The guilt of owning a machine that collects more dust than it does lost pounds is unavoidable. No matter how a person might try to justify their inactivity to themselves, the recollection of a befuddled Fudd always comes to mind. Bugs Bunny never ceased to serve as Elmer’s irritating adversary, and a rarely used treadmill does the same. A person can’t relax in front of the TV because they know that in the other room the treadmill is there mocking them. Every bite of dinner comes with dash of judgment and a pinch of self-loathing if desert isn’t followed by a brisk walk on the machine.


Feeling inadequate and defeated is synonymous with lackadaisical exercise habits. I know that I would fair better if I just gave in and jumped on the treadmill. It’s as simple as that. All that needs to be done is to lace up my shoes and press “Start.” But just as Elmer never gave up on his quixotic pursuit of the rabbit, I can’t seem to give up on my diversion in laziness.
Typically one isn’t terminally lazy; they’re just focusing all their energy in the wrong place. The treadmill didn’t waltz into their life with the intention of their self-deprecation. It was purchased for the pursuit of a healthier lifestyle. But the mission for a leaner, healthier body is just as elusive and side-stepping as Bugs Bunny. Elmer never failed to miss when he had Bugs in his sights and this is always the case with me. I will find anything to distract me or shift my attention from exercising; this includes writing an analogy involving a treadmill and a cartoon.


Likening the treadmill to Bugs Bunny shifted my frustration with my lack of success in getting into shape toward the machine instead of me. It’s easier to look at the treadmill with distrust and animosity than it is to look in the mirror with the same expression. The business of weight loss is serious stuff, but every now and then a person has to lighten their load or they’re never going to move. Anger and self-loathing are not motivators for me; they are the equivalent of concrete blocks chained to my ankles. I needed to brighten the mood and laugh. So instead of yielding my fate to that of flat a punch-line, I chose to include myself in the body of the joke. Thus, the inanimate treadmill became a two dimensional bunny, and a nemesis was born.


In terms of a relationship, this unassuming machine has become the Bugs Bunny to my Elmer Fudd. It’s true they are sworn enemies, but the running theme between Elmer and Bugs is that they never give up on one another. I may always resent the treadmill’s presence, but I still take comfort that its there. Besides, if the treadmill didn’t challenge and annoy the dickens out of me, it wouldn’t really be doing its job. Would it?