It was on a temperamental treadmill in downtown Atlanta that I realized I could never be a traveling salesman or part of any profession that made me go out on the road repeatedly. Don’t get me wrong: I love to travel. But I hate it almost as much as I love it. I like seeing new things getting out and experiencing a distant city, a new culture, new sights, whatever. But I hate living out of a suitcase and having my regular routines snapped in half and shredded to bits. Take, for instance, running. I have to run, and it’s not so easy when you travel, especially in a city like Atlanta. There I was in the hotel, the thought of traveling outside into the blustery cold to roam the bleak and desolate streets of that concrete and asphalt wasteland about as appealing as going underwear shopping. It was painfully cold, and as far as I could tell, there were no trees and no squirrels to chase. Enter the treadmill. It was a nice hotel with a nice gym, and since I’ve never belonged to a gym and never really run on a treadmill, I thought I would give it a shot. Besides, that’s what all those other business travelers seem to do. And if they can do it, why not me? So down I marched, figuring treadmills were easy. I thought I would befriend one, run a few miles, and then the two of us would grab a beer. … Continue reading The Temperamental Treadmill