My treadmill is broken. It could be repaired ─ for six hundred dollars. It would be less expensive if I bought the parts and did it myself, but I can’t even write that without laughing. So now what?
If I bought a new treadmill or some other piece of exercise equipment from Sears, they would deliver it and cart away the old one. But I don’t want a new one. I pay forty dollars a month to a local gym and I work out with a trainer every other week. The last thing I want to do is spend more money on exercise.
Our guest room has doubled as a gym since the treadmill moved in. Andrew thinks its presence detracts from the room’s feng shui. However, company always politely comments on how convenient it is to hang clothes on, though I suspect they’d rather have space in the closet. I wouldn’t mind reclaiming the space myself. The problem is figuring out where old treadmills go to die.
Even if I could put it out on the curb for the garbage truck, which I’m fairly certain the town would frown on, I don’t think Andrew and I could carry it downstairs ourselves. And I am green enough to want to recycle it. It has been suggested that I take it apart and offer the electronic parts to a tinkerer’s studio. Taking it apart doesn’t seem much easier to me than fixing it myself, although thinking about it isn’t as comical.
I looked at the web site for the service Got Junk. They let you schedule a pickup online, which is very convenient. I know it costs something because they offer ten dollars off if you schedule for that day, but nowhere do they tell you what that cost is. Wouldn’t it be amusing if it turned out to be six hundred dollars?
I offered the treadmill online for free, thinking some hardy do-it-yourself-er would be interested in the challenge. Instead I heard from several other people facing the same predicament. If I could figure out how to get rid of my own treadmill, I could start a small business doing it for others.
I could try to do something creative with it, right where it sits. I could turn it into a plant stand, rewire it and make it a lamp, paint it in neon colors and call it an art installation. Those solutions would merely postpone the inevitable, because at the end of the day, it would still be a big, heavy, awkward piece of equipment. The advantage would be that in another twenty or thirty years, I could pass the problem along to my daughter. Hmm. I think I have some paint in the basement.