Look, I started running to cope with the stress of my healthcare career. Healthcare staffing through Covid and post-Covid is not for the weak.

I didn’t start running for fun. And not because I love exercise. Because my stress needed an outlet, and apparently, eating ice cream in a blanket burrito doesn’t count as cardio. (Although if anyone saw how quickly I can pound down a pint of Chunky Monkey, this could be up for debate.)

But somewhere along the way, running became something more.

Then cancer happened. And after everything—the double mastectomy, the recovery, the mental toll, the body dysmorphia, the upcoming reconstructive surgery—I kept running.

Because now, it’s not just about stress relief. It’s about proving to myself that I still can.

Which brings me to my most recent long run of 5.5 miserable, soul-sucking miles on my treadmill at home. Alone. In my basement. ALONE.

Winter has turned Missouri into an icy hellscape of frozen buillshit, and while I am willing to suffer for a lot of things, frostbite is not one of them. And let me tell you—running in place for over an hour, at a pace that can best be described as “determined turtle,” is a form of psychological warfare I was not prepared for.

The Unique Hell That Is a 5.5-Mile Treadmill Run

Listen. I am not a fast runner. I am not a graceful runner. I am a “let’s just keep moving and hope for the best” kind of runner.

And when you run slow outside? At least you feel like you’re making progress. Distance is happening as you keep moving. It FEELS like a run.

When you run slow on a treadmill? It feels like you are being held hostage by the world’s most boring torture device.

Running outside is a physical challenge. Running on a treadmill is a psychological experiment to see how long you can tolerate your own bad decisions.

Nothing makes you question your life choices more than:
✅ Running in place for an hour.
✅ Time moving at half speed.
✅ Staring at the same fucking spot on your wall and contemplating every mistake that led you here – and maybe your paint choices in that room.

Mistakes were made, folks.

Mile 1: Delusional Optimism

Okay, this isn’t so bad. Legs feel fresh. My playlist is working. Maybe I was overreacting.

Mile 2: Time Is a Lie

I check the screen. Only 0.2 miles have passed. This is unacceptable. I check again. Still 0.2 miles!!!

At this point, I’m convinced time has stopped and I might actually be trapped in a slow-motion nightmare of my own making.

Mile 3: The Existential Dread Kicks In

I start doing treadmill math, which is its own form of emotional suffering:

• Okay, if I’m running an 15-minute mile (don’t judge me) and I have 2.5 miles left, that’s… oh my fucking god, that’s still forever.
• What if I speed up? No, wait, that makes it worse because then I’ll have to sustain that speed, and I am simply not built for that.
• What if I just… stopped? Who’s going to know? Who’s going to stop me? (Again, my integrity beats my ass.)

Mile 4: My Own House Is Mocking Me

There is literally nothing to look at except:

1. The treadmill screen (which is clearly rigged against me).
2. The wall (absolutely riveting and maybe needs new paint).
3. The laundry pile, mocking me from the corner like, Oh, you have time to run but not to fold us?
4. The cookies I promised myself as a reward, sitting in the kitchen like a beacon of hope.

Mile 5: The Bargaining Phase

• What if I stop at 5 miles? 5.5 is a dumb number anyway.
• If I finish this, I deserve an unhealthy amount of cookies and gummy bears.
• What if I just close my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere else? (Spoiler: Don’t do that. I almost fell off.)

Mile 5.5: Sweet, Merciful Freedom

The treadmill stops. I hit that button like I just defused a gotdayum bomb.

And then—like a toxic ex—my brain immediately forgets how much I suffered.

“Wow, maybe that wasn’t so bad?”

LIES.

The Difference Between Running Outside vs. The Treadmill

Since I’ve now suffered through both running on a track and running in place like a hamster on a wheel, let’s break down the key differences.

Outside Running	Treadmill Running
Fresh air, changing scenery	Staring at the same damn wall for an hour
Feels like you’re actually going somewhere	Feels like you’re slowly running into the abyss
Nature sounds, random distractions (avoid football fields though)	Laundry silently judging you from across the room
You have to push through because you’re far from home	You are always 1 second away from quitting
People think, Wow, look at them go!	People (aka me) think, Why am I like this?

So… Why Keep Running?

If running outside is about endurance, running on a treadmill is about sheer spite and stubborness.

And yet, I keep doing it.

Because even when it sucks, I know why I started.

I started running to cope. To clear my head. To deal with the weight of my career – because holy shit, the Covid times were traumatizing in my world.

But I kept running because breast cancer tried to take my body from me, and I refuse to let it win. And if I can push through 5.5 miserable, mind-numbing miles on a treadmill?

I can push through anything.

The Lesson (if you can call it that)?

Running outside? Challenging, but tolerable.
Running on a treadmill? A slow, soul-sucking experience that makes you question everything in your immediate reality.
Running in general? Still the best bad decision I keep making.

So yeah. I’ll be back on that treadmill soon. Probably cursing. Probably questioning everything. Probably bribing myself with gummy bears.

But I’ll be back.

Because at the end of the day, I’m still here. And I’m still running.

Even if Missouri winter and this godforsaken treadmill are trying to stop me.