For what comic relief it’s worth, I will tell you about the elliptical machine I ordered recently. To place the order I had to abandon all the disdain in which I formerly held the whole notion of exercising that remains in one spot going nowhere. Until recently, I’ve enjoyed walking, endured running at an old man’s pace, tennis — always my favorite — plus some floor exercises that involve stretching.
Complaints from my right knee have so increased in volume and frequency in recent months as to discourage those activities I had previously enjoyed. After several months of inertia, I realized that I had to do something that would force my heart to work harder and my lungs to breathe deeper. It was that realization plus a couple of glasses of wine one evening that led to my ordering the elliptical contraption.
The next morning I wasn’t sure what machine I had ordered. Even after I looked it up, I wasn’t sure what an elliptical was.
It soon arrived as a heavy, tightly packaged box that I opened with trepidation, knowing what I would find inside. There were a few objects that I might have guessed would belong to such a contraption — a heavy steel wheel, extended, pipe-looking handles — plus 179 other pieces and parts, most of which would fit into two cupped hands.
By the time I realized what was before me, I knew that packing it all up and sending it back would be harder than putting the genie back into the bottle. So I waded in, directions in hand and parts underfoot. It was past midnight — I seldom see that hour anymore — when the elliptical was finally complete, every part accounted for and nothing left over.
And if I never mount or straddle or ride that contraption the first time, the successful, unassisted assembly alone was worth the purchase price, especially since with increasing frequency my wife raises questions about my mental dexterity. The exercise did me much good. Now I am resolved that it will not become a repository for articles of clothing on hangars.