I had to laugh when I saw that lovely picture of a treadmill desk on Jade Lee's post yesterday. I, too, had great expectations when I bought my own treadmill, but after seeking help from my chiropractor as to why my feet hurt so much, he hesitated a moment, cleared his throat and said, "I hate to say it, but your treadmill is the most likely cause of your problem." Alas, in the days and months since then (it may even have been a year!), my treadmill has become the repository for shoes (some of them are at least new), conference-issue tote bags, and a waste basket. My Mr. Spock mousepad sits forlorn, promising me that if I will only climb aboard, I will surely live long and prosper. Lately, the desire to live long and prosper has been outweighed by the need for feet that don't make me want to scream. The treadmill gets dusted regularly, and I do vacuum around it. I even drag it out of the way to clean underneath it from time to time. But I don't use it. ...
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