I have run in the Rocky Mountains as the blue skies welcomed a radiant orange sunrise. I have felt the misty water from the Oregon coast as I ran along the beach. I have enjoyed leaf-laden paths through the woods of northern Michigan and snow packed cross-country ski trails.

I shunned indoor running even through frigid winter winds and ice storms. I saw myself as a running purist, an elitist. I needed to breathe the fresh air, experience natural ground beneath my feet, feel the light snow flurries upon my face. Yet now I must confess. I have defected.

I have broken my daily rendezvous with Mother Nature and now have a regular tryst in my basement. I have become a treadmill junkie. I am a slave to the revolving belt, mesmerized by the flashing numbers and beeps, enchanted by the random hill profile program. I have traded the sweet smell of spring for the stagnant cellar air, the great outdoors for the great four walls, the warm feel of sunshine for Oprah on my television.

You can have your golden mountain majesties. Just let me run viewing ESPN Sports center with my remote control giving me quick musical visits to VH1 in a climate controlled environment. Blasphemous? I say it is sensible. I have even got immediate bathroom access. No more racing my bladder to the nearest gas station.

My old running buddies implore me to join them outdoors for a leisurely seven miler. I stick my head beyond the screen door and see the lovely autumn colors and hear the sounds of birds chirping. I am not swayed. The beep, beep of my electronic treadmill beckons me with a loving call and I must go. The sunlight is beginning to hurt my eyes. My manual speed program waits. I warn my running friends not to trip on an uneven sidewalk as I retreat inside.

When I was one of the many who left their house for a run, I could only estimate the distance I had traveled. Now if I am asked how far I ran I can conclusively say, "Nine point six miles in total with three miles at a 6:25 pace with a 1% grade followed by two miles at a six minute pace with no grade concluding with four miles at 6:50 on a 2% grade and a cool down of .30 miles at 8:00." My inquisitor will look at me with no real recollection of the question they had previously asked while I am just about to give my caloric expenditure per hour.

Oh, I had experienced the elusive runner's high churning through a ten-mile trail run with the lovely sights of autumn decorating the landscape. Now, however, it is a magical feeling to be finishing twenty miles on the treadmill, George Sheehan quotes decorating the walls, a refreshment stand within reach, and the VCR showing Rocky knocking down Apollo Creed and earning victory. I am the king of the revolving terrain. I am treadmill man, hear the hum.

Previously, when planning a vacation, I would make certain there were plenty of scenic running routes available. Now my inquiries center on "Does the hotel have treadmills? Incline abilities? Can you send me a picture of it?" I will take a stay-at-home vacation with treadmill access over Jamaica without it.

My T-shirt collection has diminished as I have missed the last year of 10K races and marathons. However, my PR's have improved. If only anyone knew. I cannot seem to get the local running stores to post my times.

I know my obsession is going a bit too far. I am just one power outage or motor malfunction away from being forced back to the roads. I have come up with some gradual steps to get me reintroduced to running outside again. First, I figure I will bring the treadmill and television up to the garage. I will turn on a sunlamp. Eventually, I will even open the garage door to let some of that exterior air in. Ultimately, I will intersperse some quick jaunts around the block within the treadmill workout. Perhaps, I can even coordinate them with the commercials on Regis and Kathy Lee.

One step at a time literally to find the road to recovery. I am suddenly feeling nostalgic for open space. I hear James Taylor singing, "I guess my feet know where they want me to go . . . down a country road." I think maybe, but then I pause. What's the temperature outside?