Always Remember PPPPPP
August 21st, 2024 - By Eddy DelSignore
In high school, one of my favorite teachers was Mr. Quigley, who taught American History and The Presidents. Mr. Quigley had an adage which he asked his students to follow: PPPPPP.
Prior. Planning. Prevents. Piss. Poor. Performances.
As you may or may not know, but has been mentioned in past editions of this publication and on the podcast, I’m starting to get into running. Baby steps. A mile here, a mile there, a little over a mile here, almost two miles there. Nothing big. I won’t be running marathons, but I’m trying my best.
To that end, I wanted to supplement my habit by looking into getting a treadmill. With a treadmill, I could run (or, realistically, power walk) every day if I wanted to do so. I prowled Facebook Market, Craigslist, etc. to try to find something that worked. Then, I found a free one listed that was in great condition. I contacted the seller, and we arranged to get it picked up.
The treadmill was in South Boston. I knew this. What I did not know that it was up six (6) flights of stairs, and would have to be un-assembled to fit through the doors. Regardless, my wife and I got this done in a blazing 1.5 hours. Pouring sweat the entire way, denting every wall, and, eventually, gliding it down flights of stairs, we accomplished the mission. All while the nicest person ever watched our daughter who seemed amused with some of the grunts coming from her parents’ efforts. Whatever it takes. The treadmill was ours.
We drove the treadmill home, and were determined to put it downstairs in our basement so that if I decided to use it, the noise of both my thundering hooves and my panting breathing after 10 steps would not interrupt anyone else in the house—a genius plan. I could also run/walk as I’m leading my teams on the virtual battlegrounds of Playstation 5. We embarked on making this happen.
A crisp 90 minutes later, the treadmill was downstairs and in its final stages of assembly. The moment of truth came when we finally plugged the treadmill in—did we get fleeced into moving a nonfunctional treadmill? Would it support my massive feet? Did it actually work as intended? All the questions were answered positively! The treadmill worked! The incline worked! Everything was working! Now, the moment of truth…stepping on it for the first time to see if it would support me.
I got on the treadmill, set it to 4mph (I had no shoes on…), and started to walk. Then, immediately, something I had not anticipated happened. My head literally went through the ceiling. Through. The. Ceiling. My clothes were filled with pieces of drop ceiling, insulation, and a lot of dust. A ceiling tile hit the floor. I had a great view of the inner wiring of the entire electrical system of my house.
Somehow, throughout the entire process of scouting, acquiring, moving, and setting up a treadmill, I never thought of THE HEIGHT OF THE CEILING.
I don’t know if anyone reading this has ever had a moment where he/she realizes “I am just an idiot,” but this was mine. I have never felt so stupid than at this exact moment. Best part about the entire thing? Now there’s no way we are taking apart this treadmill and moving it back up the stairs and out of the house. So, it’s just stuck down in our basement for now. Maybe we will remove a ceiling panel with just enough space for our heads. Maybe we will run in a crouched position or a bear crawl. I don’t know.
Moral of the story: if I had done appropriate prior planning, it would have prevented this particular piss poor performance. Thank you again, Mr. Quigley.