This is a story about pain, about loss, about the horrors of treadmills, and why exercise does not mix with video games. Happy new year. It all started a little while in the month of Ifuckingforget. My parents told me to go get some exercise, so I headed upstairs to the same room I have my game system set up. Now in this room I had 3 exercise machines to use: an electric bike, the treadmill, and lifting weights. Being the genius that I am I realized it would be possible to use the xbox while I was on either of the former two, but I didn't want to go on the bike because I didn't want to. So I hopped on the treadmill, started it up at a fairly fast pace or else my parents would think I wasn't working hard enough. I logged in, got my microphone working, and started playing COD with a friend who moved to Ohio last year. Very early on I realized that playing a first person shooter was a bad desicion. Every time I moved to the side or backwards in game, I mimicked it on the treadmill creating several close calls. But as luck would have it, disaster struck after about 4 of these close calls. When one of my legs stepped off the other stayed on, throwing my legs out from under me and punching those magnificent holes in the wall with my knees. Except that's not the end of it, not only had I been thoroughly planted into the wall, but I'd forgotten to attach the emergency stop clip to my belt. That cursed key dangled just out of arms reach like some kind of demonic fishing line while my legs got sanded away. After a good deal of cursing and making a sound my friend (who heard the whole damn thing over the mic) later compared to releasing the kraken if it had a hangover. Eventually I pulled the key out, stopped the treadmill, and got up to find these little craters in the wall, which my parents found more funny than being angry, and actually left them there as a reminder that exercise and video games do not mix.
