Biff

Despite the fact that my house feels too small - especially in the winter months - there is room enough for Biff.

Biff is my treadmill.

Yes.  I name appliances, automobiles, and electronic gadgets.  For instance, my GPS is Tellulah.  My husband's, Buford...(he had something weird thing about taking directions from a woman's voice...hence the uber-manly name...)

Biff gets a lot of action during the week.  I log about 10 miles in a seven-day stretch.  And I usually rev him all the way up to  a 6!  Watch out, all you marathoners.

But today, I felt the need to mosey.

Meander.

Saunter in my street clothes rather than change into my work-out wear - which I normally never do.  (It being 18 degrees outside made an outside mosey quite unpalatable)

So I went to the basement and switched on my old friend.  The clapping of my Doc Martin wanna-bees and the swing of my shoulder-length earrings was an odd sensation whilst atop Biff.  The absence of iTunes, also a trifle unnerving.

But Biff understood that I just wanted to keep it simple today.  Still stinging from a house-hunting defeat, I couldn't find the energy to crank him up to a brisk jog.  Only a stroll.

Thanks for understanding, Biff.
Thanks for being there.
Thanks for not judging me in my street-clothes psychosis today.

What a guy.
-Sylva Leining