I don't know what to say

I got off the treadmill last night, ready to acknowledge that a mile in 18 minutes and 36 seconds was pretty pathetic. That IS what happened, by the way.
But I couldn't access my blog, so my rant about fitness pressures fizzled out, rapidly replaced with a few unprintable thoughts about technology and my inability to access its conveniences.
It would be impossible for me to explain what I did to get from where I was (unable to blog -- no green + sign) to where I am, so I don't know if I'll be able to duplicate my good fortune. Something to do with usernames and passwords I think.
It's too late to say anything anyway; I have some place else to be right now, and my fitness frustration has subsided somewhat.
It was a bit of a bummer, though, to realize I'd only been walking 2.9 mph all this time. I thought I was going faster! I was walking along to the beat of my recorded music, same pace as my outdoor journeys, and the treadmill taunted me with a mere 2.9 reading. For the record, I did speed up a bit after awhile though.
After two minutes I recalled how much I disliked the treadmill, and figured I'd stay on for ten minutes instead of my original goal of 30. Or maybe even five. But 10 turned into 12, then 15, then 25, and it was starting to feel really good. I was spurred on by a recollection of Borat working with a fitness trainer, bungling his workout on the equipment.
Who the hell does a four-minute mile though? Or even a ten-minute mile? I won't think about them for awhile. It's better that way.