Jane! Stop this Crazy Thing!

Oh I had a whole entry about being up early because of the trash guys, and how the training went super well. Geoff made a really good dinner but forgot protein so my blood sugar is stupid. But. All told, everything was great. 

Until. 

I got on the treadmill at 7. I was way behind on steps for the day overall, so I knew I had to go a full half hour. Which I did. But it was a slower pace. Not quite 2 miles in the half hour. But yeah. Alright. I did pretty good and would make 10k by bedtime. 

The treadmill was set at 2.8 mph, I can run or walk fast at that pace. Slow down if I can't keep the pace up on "Whip It," and pick up and run again. 

I hit stop. She didn't stop, so I hit it again. The display said "Press and Hold Stop to end workout." I did just that. Bitch still wouldn't stop. 

Right then, you know when something isn't right and your brain isn't quite knowing the perfect thing to do (ie: slow the treadmill down to .5? Pull the emergency stop switch?) That's where my brain was. 

So I held on to the hand rail and stepped my right foot onto the side of the treadmill. But I didn't immediately lift the left to do the same thing. My left foot was pretty happy on the belt. 

And my body started to go two different directions at once. I went down on my knee, but remember, I'm holding onto the handrail. And my knee is getting belt sanded. 

I scream for help. No one comes. I know Doug is in the living room, Geoff comes running from downstairs. 

I let go of the hand rail and now I'm in a heap at the foot of the treadmill. 

And that fucking belt is still going at 3mph. 

Geoff goes to try and help me up and I said to hang on, I want Doug to come here, and see what this infernal machine has done to his wife. Eventually he comes in, and asks, "What happened?"

I tell him.

He walks over to the treadmill and pulls the emergency stop.

"Oh," I said, "I didn't even think of that." 

I managed to get myself off the floor cursing that stupid piece of shit mother fucking asshole treadmill. 

"BITCH I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS!" 

And of course I immediately call Linda who sends me an animated gif of George Jetson walking Astro on the dog walk treadmill outside their space apartment. 

This is what I felt like.

I got ice for my left knee, the one that got belt sanded. I thought about a strong vodka tonic but I passed on it. I watched hockey. I came up to bed. 

Not how I wanted to end my evening to be honest. I actually said "I should take Toffee for a walk, but. ..." and did the treadmill instead. In my mind I play "It could be worse" and what could have been worse is I took Toffee for a walk and we got run over by a car. Or she sees that cat and acts like Astro in the animated gif and I get pulled down on my face. I lose teeth. I break bones. There could be bears.

Off to bed. A better and less stumbly day tomorrow. Digits below.

digits

exercise: 12/12 hours. 1.93 mi/30 min; 10k+ steps by bedtime

blood glucose:

8:15am: 130
4:15pm: 136
10pm: one finger is 215, the other finger is 149. 

food & meds:

8:15am: jardiance+phentermine
1:45pm: slab of left over pork loin. Met+glip
6:30pm: Bowl of Geoff Fried Rice (not enough protein)
8pm: met+glip
no alcohol