The Drunken Treadmill Assembly

Taking steps to get more steps in.

I was halfway in the bag and not at all prepared for a late afternoon delivery.

Which is of course when an afternoon delivery comes.

I was surprised despite the fact I’d been diligently following the tracking updates in anticipation of my new device being dropped off.

I should have known it was coming.

But you might know how it goes: Sometimes you get excited about something else and tend to put that other thing you were gleefully anticipating on the back-burner.

Unintentionally switch out one thing for another, lose track, etc.

The truth is some days I start drinking earlier than other days because I want (and on occasions that wax and wane, need) the fully present part of that day to end before too long. Being completely sober and alone with my own thoughts when I have nothing I really have to do and no place I have to be? Not necessarily something I excel at no matter how hard I’ve been working on it. (Which, to be honest, hasn’t been that hard.)

There’s always some sort of edge that needs taking off and sometimes circumstances like an afternoon off the clock or a near-complete lack of self control lead to me getting after it sooner rather than later.

It seems counterintuitive because to many it is, but in some cases throwing in a few tipples here and there help me get back to neutral and actually enhance my productivity — though I find this to be true more often with tasks that involve me manically hovering over my laptop than performing any kind of remotely physical labor (with the notable exception of cleaning my apartment, something I feel compelled to do pretty much only when I’m fully incapable of passing a field sobriety test).

I dress fake-rugged, like a pseudo-lumberjack, but pretty much all I do is type real fast and with a modicum of accuracy.

The treadmill promised to be a beast that would certainly challenge these callous-free hands.

Soon as I got the call from my doorman (something I’m still not used to having and feel like I don’t necessarily deserve, along with the refrigerator I have that makes its own ice, but when you’ve spent many of your formative years living in Brooklyn you have a very skewed sense of what’s for the normal and what’s for the exceedingly wealthy) I head…