October 29, 2025

Library Book Treadmills Launched for Multitasking

Lesbian romance section most dangerous zone

The downtown public library has unveiled its latest innovation in terrible ideas: treadmill desks equipped with book stands, allowing patrons to read while walking at speeds guaranteed to cause neither good exercise nor good reading comprehension. The initiative, called “Read & Run,” cost $85,000 and solves a problem that library director Patricia Hendricks describes as “people sitting still while reading, which seemed suspiciously gay and contemplative.”

“We noticed patrons were comfortably sitting while reading queer literature, which seemed inefficient and potentially too enjoyable,” Hendricks explained while demonstrating a treadmill set to 2.5 mph—a speed causing books to blur but providing zero cardiovascular benefit. “Why choose between physical and mental health when you can poorly address both while reading Casey McQuiston at a speed that makes the kissing scenes completely illegible?”

The treadmills feature adjustable book stands, built-in lighting, and handrails making page-turning nearly impossible—especially problematic for the lesbian romance section, which Hendricks describes as “our highest-traffic area and now our most dangerous zone.” Early adopters report that reading while walking creates an experience best described as “like being drunk during a book club but with more risk of concussion.”

Graduate student Marcus Thompson attempted to read queer theory on existentialism while walking and said the experience “made me question the meaning of both reading and walking, which is on-brand for Judith Butler but not ideal for spatial awareness. I walked into a shelf and knocked over the entire LGBTQ+ young adult section. The librarian said it was ‘symbolically appropriate’ given that I was reading about destabilizing heteronormative structures. Still have a bruise.”

Library staff have responded to multiple injuries, including one patron who walked into a wall while deeply engaged in a sapphic fantasy novel, and another who fell off the treadmill during a particularly intense chapter of “Red, White & Royal Blue.” “The treadmills automatically stop if you fall,” noted safety coordinator Jennifer Walsh. “So we’ve addressed the symptoms of our bad idea rather than reconsidering whether combining exercise equipment with literature people are emotionally invested in was ever a good plan.”

LGBTQ+ patrons have particularly struggled with the treadmills. “I was reading ‘Stone Butch Blues’ and crying while walking, which is not a safe combination,” explained library regular River Martinez, a nonbinary grad student. “Between the emotional devastation of queer literature and trying to maintain 3 mph, I nearly died. This is library services designed by someone who’s never experienced the physical impossibility of reading queer trauma narratives while in motion. You need to be stationary for that. Preferably sitting. Ideally with tissues.”

Fitness experts question the value of walking slow enough to read. “You’re basically standing on a moving surface while your eyes desperately try to focus on wobbling text about gay cowboys or lesbian vampires,” explained personal trainer Derek Santos. “It’s not exercise, it’s not effective reading, and it’s definitely not safe when people reach emotional plot points. Someone’s going to read the coming-out scene in ‘Heartstopper’ and walk straight into the circulation desk. It’s inevitable.”

The library board defended the $85,000 purchase, noting that book treadmills represent “innovation in serving our diverse community, including LGBTQ+ patrons who statistically check out more books than straight people.” When asked if that money could have been spent on more queer literature, extending hours, funding LGBTQ+ youth programming, or paying librarians living wages, board president Richard Morrison looked confused. “But those solutions aren’t innovative. They’re just effective and actually helpful. Where’s the publicity value?”

Patrons have submitted satirical suggestions for other unnecessary combinations, including “stationary bikes with attached e-readers for exercising while reading queer fanfiction” and “elliptical machines in the gender studies section for working out while learning about the social construction of binary thinking.” The library is considering all proposals that involve wasting money instead of addressing actual funding issues.

One patron attempting to read a cookbook while walking reported an epiphany: “I was reading a recipe for rainbow cookies—literally a queer icon—while speed-walking nowhere on this stupid treadmill. It felt like a perfect metaphor for modern LGBTQ+ life: rushing through meaningful experiences to meet productivity expectations that don’t actually serve us.” They then fell off the treadmill, decided to sit in a chair “like a human being with sense,” and discovered that reading is dramatically easier when stationary.

The library has since added warning signs near the lesbian romance section reading “CAUTION: Emotional content ahead. Reduce speed or dismount entirely. Staff not responsible for injuries sustained while reading about women kissing.” Usage data shows the treadmills are least popular among queer patrons, who’ve collectively decided that some experiences—like reading about people like themselves in fiction—deserve full attention without the added risk of walking into architectural features.

SOURCE: https://bohiney.com/library-book-treadmills-launched/

SOURCE: Library Book Treadmills Launched for Multitasking (https://bohiney.com/library-book-treadmills-launched/)

Lesbian romance section most dangerous zone - Library Book Treadmills Launched for Multitasking
Lesbian romance section most dangerous zone

Heidi Ladein

Heidi Ladein, the 20-year-old blonde dynamo taking German satirical journalism by storm, didn't set out to become Bohiney Magazine's most controversial voice. Yet here she stands, wielding her pen like a precision scalpel, dissecting German society's absurdities with the surgical accuracy of a Bavarian clockmaker and the irreverence of a Berlin punk rocker.

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