The New Year and the Treadmill Pact

The holidays are officially over.  

The gingerbread house has been demolished, 

the New Year has been rung in,  

and the mailbox could be removed from its post for another year.  

"We didn't plan well," he said on December 31. 

"We should have invited someone over for tonight."

"Right," I responded agreeably.  

"So maybe our first New Year's resolution should be 

to make some really good friends this year

 so next year we have friends to invite."

He laughed.  "Well, how shall we spend our New Year's Eve?"

"On the treadmill?" I suggested.  

And then we both were laughing.    

No, this isn't a New Year's resolution, for the Treadmill Pact was made during the week of Christmas when diets and exercise are necessary but neglected animals.  Both my husband and I have some extra pounds to shed as well as some toning to do, so we spent an hour brainstorming The Treadmill Pact.  We laughingly threatened each other with Windex and squeegees for Christmas and finally sealed the following deal with a handshake.  

Our rules (at least most of them):

• You must be on the treadmill at least three times a week for at least 20 minutes.  If you aren't, you wash three of our dirtiest windows, including the sill space between the window and screen.
• If your opponent not only meets the required minimum for the week but goes up and beyond that, you wash one window unless you match your opponent's treadmill count.
• Maximum of six treadmill experiences per week. (John's idea.  He said he can't afford to have me decide I want the windows washed and spend an entire day on the treadmill which would be impossible for him to repeat since he has to be at the office.)
• Unanimous agreements are the only way to void or change any requirement. (No lame excuses. John already warned me that he can feel malaria in his knee-caps and can't be expected to run like that.  Right.)
• When you reach your goal weight, you still need to treadmill three times per week or you wash three windows.  However, you no longer need to meet your spouse's treadmill counts if they go beyond their call of duty.

The window washing idea, by the way, was the worst punishment either one of us could think of.  Both of us totally hate window washing which means our windows look terrible as I speak.  

"What if six months goes by and no one washes any windows?" John asked theoretically.

Now really, six months with not a single window washed?  I swallowed words of realism and gaily suggested, "In that case, we reward ourselves by hiring someone to wash our windows!"  

Actually, I'm already laughing at the comments my hubby is going to make while hauling a bucket of hot, soapy water towards the windows.  His sense of humor works overtime in moments like those.  

He, of course, keeps making comments about feeling sorry for me having to wash all 19 windows in our house.  He's grinning at me right now and saying, "Hey, can I post pictures of you washing windows on your blog?  I'll say, 'She would be blogging but she's busy right now...'"

Speaking of...

Maybe I should get off of here

and get on the treadmill. 

I only have 4 hours 

until time is up 

and I'll be punished 

with three windows.

This is nothing more

than ruthless.