Many years ago, we bought a recumbent, stationary bicycle so we could exercise without ever having to leave the house. At the time we made the purchase, I had no idea that “stationary” would be the key word in that description. The bicycle has sat untouched in the upstairs loft almost from the day we brought it home.
It isn’t completely useless. It has turned out to be a wonderful place to hang clothing, towels, and coats. The cup holder is also quite functional, and I find myself frequently taking advantage of the little plastic attachment whenever I am upstairs with a drink and suddenly find myself in need of free hands. I do feel that two thousand dollars was a bit of an extreme investment for a cup holder, however.
As the bicycle has gathered dust, waiting patiently for someone to actually use it as something other than a chair from which to watch television, my wife apparently decided to take pity on it and buy it a friend.
She told me, “I want to buy a treadmill for upstairs.”
“We already have a bicycle that nobody uses,” I pointed out.
“No, I don’t like the bike. I want something I can walk on.”
“Go outside. There are all kinds of streets out there you can walk on.”
“What about when it rains?” she asked.
“We have a bike upstairs.”
“I don’t like the bike.”
That circular discussion went on for about three months. I foolishly thought that’s all it was: a discussion. Then one day, my wife announced that she had purchased a treadmill and it would be delivered in the next week.
“It will get here Thursday,” she said. “Will you be home for the delivery?”
I tactfully pointed out that I have no job to go to, no friends, and no reason to ever leave the house.
“So, you’ll be home?” she asked again.
I sighed and assured her that I would be home on Thursday.
My wife told me that she had paid extra money on the delivery so that the treadmill would be placed in our garage rather than simply pushed off the truck in the middle of the street. I, however, was going to have to figure out a way to get it from the garage, into the house, and upstairs.
“The delivery notes say it weighs three hundred pounds. Is that okay?”
“Okay for what?” I asked, honestly not sure what she was asking.
“Can we carry it upstairs together?”
I admit I probably laughed a little too long and a lot too loud. I think I might have hurt her feelings a bit. To make her feel better, I patted her shoulder and said, “There’s no f***ing way you and I are going to be able to carry that upstairs.”
Unfortunately, it was too late to cancel the delivery, and I was stuck with a three-hundred-pound item that was going to be dropped in my garage in a few days.
Thursday arrived, and a large truck pulled into our driveway. A gentleman got out of the truck and told me that he was dropping off our treadmill and asked where he should put it. I pointed toward the garage since my wife had paid extra for the drop off service.
This gentleman was in his 60’s and might have weighed 120 pounds if he was soaking wet. I looked in the truck for the other people that were going to help him carry a 300-pound crate but didn’t find anyone else. It was just him.
He opened the back of the truck and revealed a single box, bigger than the both of us put together. He scratched his head, then asked me, “Do you mind giving me a hand?”
Sure, why not? My wife had paid good money for garage delivery, and she should get garage delivery. She had just failed to realize that she was paying the wrong guy, since I would be the one dragging it into the garage.
With Phase I (delivery) completed, I moved on to Phase II, getting it upstairs. In a flash of brilliance, I opened the box and pulled out all the smaller, loose pieces and carried them upstairs separately to reduce some of the weight. After about a dozen trips up and down the stairs, I had emptied the box of everything except the treadmill track and base assembly. I estimated I had reduced the overall weight to a paltry 280 pounds.
Piece of cake.
The next thing I picked up was a phone, because that treadmill was not going anywhere without some real help. I called a friend of mine and asked him to come over. My friend (I’ll call him Scott, because his name is Scott and I’m too tired to think of a fake name) was foolish enough to pick up the phone and admit he was home.
To make a long story short, the treadmill is now upstairs, and I owe Scott a massive favor in return for his assistance getting it there. If he calls me next week and asks me to spend the night hiding in his garbage can and shooing away raccoons with a stick, then that is what I will be doing. Whatever painful or humiliating task he asks me to do in the future, I will have to agree to it. After he helped me lug 300 pounds of metal up a flight of stairs, I can’t say no to anything he might ask in return.
Until that day comes, I can only sit back and wait until he decides to call in that favor.
It will probably involve lifting or dragging something heavy. It seems only fair. I should probably start exercising and getting in shape for whatever it is, so I’m ready when it’s my turn. Fortunately, I’m in luck.
I have a treadmill upstairs.
.
.
.
Enjoying Deep Dark Thoughts? Follow me on Facebook so you don’t miss a post. Just go to my page and click the “Like” button to receive updates on my blog and other projects.
And you can follow me on Twitter @gallenwilbanks.