muslim women fitness, The Muslim Orange

An Ode to Treadmills (and perhaps, good husbands)

Ahhh, we meet again, Brother T. Read Mill. How kind you are to me! You let me walk all over you, without saying a word, and yet despite this you make me feel and look beautiful. You truly are a gift.

At times I tire of your stoicism, your silence, but you make up for it with your steadfast patience and perseverance, and your helpful facts and figures. Even when I stumble at times or grow tired you always seem to keep on going, and motivate me to do the same. We walk step in step. I imagine you are mournfully counting down the minutes remaining of our time together.

It is as if you have a direct line to a power source somewhere, beyond our immediate proximity.

It is not always smooth sailing. You anger me when I feel I cannot live up to your expectations, your incline, your speed, the calories you expect me to burn. I have ignored you at times for days, and weeks. Forgive me Brother T, for I was only mad at myself. I know you do not hold it against me for you never turn me away. I simply receive a sharp reminder when we struggle to continue at the pace we once felt comfortable. I realize how our time apart has caused slovenliness in myself.

Your patience with my faults astounds me. You never once question my need to go at my own pace or slow down when I need to. I feel I can be myself around you. You are not impressed with heavy makeup or ridiculous clothing. In fact, you prefer my clean face and comfortable sweats.

I may wear the shoes in this relationship, but I never fail to remember, beloved friend, that you wear the belt.



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