There are two kinds of people who buy a treadmill:
- Serious fitness enthusiasts.
- Me—who believed I would become one.
This is the tragic yet predictable tale of how I researched, bought, and barely used my treadmill before it met its inevitable fate—as an expensive clothes rack.
1. The ‘I Need to Get Fit’ Realization
It started like all bad financial decisions—a moment of self-reflection.
Me: “I should get in shape. Maybe I should buy a treadmill!”
The Cynic Upstairs: “Or, hear me out, you could just walk… outside?”
Me: “No, no. Too many obstacles. Weather, pollution, stray dogs, human interaction… a treadmill is better!”
Thus began the great research phase.
2. The ‘Deep Research’ That Changed Nothing
I spent weeks researching treadmills like I was building a rocket ship.
- Do I need an incline feature?
- What’s better—manual or motorized?
- What horsepower should my treadmill have?
- Can it support my weight + the weight of my future regret?
Finally, after watching 47 YouTube reviews and reading 150 Amazon comments, I proudly announced:
Me: “I have chosen THE treadmill.”
The Cynic Upstairs: “You just spent a month overanalyzing something you’ll barely use.”
3. The Delivery and the ‘Where Do I Put This Thing?’ Crisis
When the massive box arrived, I realized something critical—I had no idea where to put it.
- Living room? Looks ugly.
- Bedroom? Too noisy.
- Balcony? What if it rains?
- Garage? What if I actually use it? (Unlikely, but still.)
After three hours of moving furniture, I found the perfect spot—against the wall, where it was accessible yet out of the way.
The Cynic Upstairs: “Congrats! You just installed a very expensive dust collector.“
4. The ‘First Week Excitement’ and Sudden Decline
Like all new purchases, the first week was magical.
- Day 1: Walked for 45 minutes while watching Netflix. Felt unstoppable.
- Day 2: Jogged for 10 minutes, then walked. Still feeling good.
- Day 3: Only walked 5 minutes.
- Day 4: Stood on it while checking my phone.
- Day 5: Looked at it.
- Day 6: Pretended it wasn’t there.
- Day 7: Thought, Maybe I should sell it.
The Cynic Upstairs: “That’s the fastest decline since your New Year’s resolutions.”
5. The ‘Protect It from the Kids’ Battle
As the days passed, I noticed a new problem.
The kids.
They had claimed the treadmill.
- Running on it for fun.
- Using it as a slide.
- Turning it into a car racetrack.
- Hiding their toys inside it.
Me: “STOP! This is expensive fitness equipment!”
Kids: “No, this is our new playground!”
The Cynic Upstairs: “Face it. The treadmill is no longer yours.”
6. The ‘Wife’s Takeover’ (a.k.a. The Laundry Rack Transformation)
One day, I walked into the room and saw it.
The treadmill was covered in clothes.
Me: “WHAT IS THIS?!”
Wife: “It’s a great drying rack! The bars are perfect for hanging shirts!”
My beloved treadmill—**which I had researched for weeks, spent thousands on, and envisioned as my gateway to fitness—was now a glorified clothes hanger.
The Cynic Upstairs: “You should’ve seen this coming.”
7. The ‘Final Goodbye’ Sale
Months later, after using the treadmill for everything except running, I finally decided:
It had to go.
Me (posting on resale app): “Treadmill for sale! Barely used! In great condition!”
Buyer: “What’s the reason for selling?”
Me: “…Space issues.” (A polite way of saying ‘It was a mistake’.)
The buyer picked it up in a truck.
As I watched my treadmill leave, a single thought crossed my mind—
Me: “I should start running outside.”
The Cynic Upstairs: “You won’t. But go ahead and pretend you will.”
Final Thoughts
Buying a treadmill isn’t about fitness.
It’s about convincing yourself you’ll change, before reality convinces you otherwise.
I, as always, try to be optimistic. The Cynic Upstairs? He’s already browsing online for my next bad purchase.
And my wife? She’s now looking for a ‘new space-saving drying rack.’
Ever bought something that became completely useless? Drop your story below—oh wait, this isn’t a therapy group. Well, carry on.