Meet George Jetson.

So, I've been easing into the exercise thing. First of all, I am feeling pretty good these days. My sugars have come back down to normal (more or less) and I have been diligent about taking all of the zillions of pills I have to take, and all in all, I'm doing well.

My great niece has been living with me, and this weekend she moved out, freeing up a spare room. The more I thought about it, the more inspired I became to rearrange some furniture. I moved my bedroom furniture into her old room and am turning my old bedroom into a den/office. My treadmill will eventually reside there, but the room needs a major clean-up before that can happen.

I came home from work yesterday evening, still feeling good. A little tired, but good. Had a bite to eat. Having moved the TV I had in the kitchen (a new tactic that will hopefully keep me from lingering by the food), I had no reason to tarry there, so after dinner I moved into the living room. I sat on the couch, and what should be looming right across the room from me, but the treadmill. It refused to be ignored.

I changed my clothes (not to put on silly workout stuff, but something a little more comfortable than the clothes I wore to work) and climbed aboard. My treadmill was a gift from a friend. It's a little on the elderly side and has this convoluted thing where you move this magnet thing from "off" to "activate," press a button on the front, enter a bunch of stuff, and off you go. I always forget this sequence of events (being that I only seem to use it once every six months), so I had to reacquaint myself with the ritual. It roared itself awake and off I went.

TV on, iPhone handy, glass of water near — it was all good. Then, suddenly... wait a minute, it's occurred to me that I haven't told you that I have three dogs. Zodie, a 12-year-old German Shepherd, Otis, a five-year-old Brussels Griffon and Mrs. Binklee, a crazed Chihuahua/Pug mix. Zodie is old and somewhat rickety. She likes to lay wherever I am, so wherever I am, there she be. Otis is her pal, so wherever she is, there is Otis. Mrs. Binklee on the other hand, has a mind of her own and may or may not be with me, depending on whether I have food, or can help her to be comfortable. Zodie is the largest, then Mrs. Binklee (who's width exceeds her height) and then Otis. He's a tiny little monkey-looking thing with long hair. Very cute.

So, back to the treadmill. I'm sauntering along, pacing myself (don't ask me what my pace was though. I'll tell you it wasn't all that fast) and suddenly, out of the blue, Otis jumped on the treadmill with me. It seriously was like something out of a movie. He was walking on it, but clearly didn't understand what was going on. I was screaming for him to get off, while envisioning him getting his fur or feet caught in the thing. I finally sort of scooted him off with my foot. He seemed no worse for the wear. It freaked me out a bit, though. Obviously my dogs would like to go for walks and will find any way to do so. Except for Mrs. Binklee. She's a lot like her momma.

Despite that bit of drama I finished my treadmill excursion. It wasn't too horrible and I think it's something I can fit into my life without too much effort. Otis, on the other hand, is going to have to get his own treadmill.