Next time you step into your local gym, take a closer look at the treadmill humming quietly in the corner. It’s a staple of modern fitness, a sleek symbol of health and determination. But beneath its polished exterior lies a chilling history that’s been largely swept under the rug—a tale of punishment, suffering, and a justice system that once veered into the absurd. Yes, the treadmill, that trusty companion for your morning jog, was born not in a gym, but in the grim confines of 19th-century prisons.
Let’s start with the name itself: treadmill. “Tread” is straightforward enough—you walk on it. But “mill”? That’s where things get interesting. To uncover the connection, we need to travel back to England in the early 1800s, a time when breaking the law could land you in a world of trouble—or worse. Back then, the country operated under the “Bloody Code,” a harsh legal system where even minor offenses carried the death penalty. Steal a rabbit? Execution. Hang out with the wrong crowd for a month? Off with your head. Write a menacing note? You get the idea. It was a brutal era, and public opinion eventually began to shift. Was it really fair to hang someone for a petty crime? Most people started to think not.
This growing unease sparked a change. Instead of executions, England turned to imprisonment, building more state prisons to house its growing population of lawbreakers. Incarceration seemed humane by comparison—no one was dying, at least. But there was a catch: prisons quickly became places of idleness. Criminals sat around all day, locked in cramped cells with nothing to do. This didn’t sit well with everyone. After all, the Bible’s Book of Isaiah warned that the wicked would find “no rest” in eternal torment. If God didn’t let sinners off easy, why should the justice system? Enter William Cubitt, a young engineer with a knack for problem-solving and a family background in milling.
Cubitt visited a prison in Bury St. Edmunds and was appalled by what he saw: inmates lounging about, wasting time. He decided to put them to work—literally. Space was tight, and meaningful jobs were scarce, so he invented a machine that could keep dozens of prisoners busy without taking up much room. His creation? The treadmill. Unlike today’s streamlined models, Cubitt’s version was a hulking wooden wheel with flat steps, like an endless staircase. Prisoners climbed it as it turned, hour after hour. And here’s the “mill” part: the energy they produced powered actual tasks. Some treadmills pumped water or ventilated the prison. Others ground corn, functioning as human-powered mills. In a darkly ironic twist, certain versions did nothing at all—prisoners called it “grinding the wind.”
Sounds like a workout, right? Except this was no casual exercise. For prisoners over 16 sentenced to hard labor, treadmill duty meant six to ten hours a day, seven days a week, with barely a moment to catch their breath. They’d climb over 4,000 vertical meters daily—imagine scaling Colorado’s Mount Elbert, the Rockies’ highest peak, every single day. But unlike a mountain hike with fresh air and sweeping views, this was a soul-crushing slog. The machines sat in cramped stalls, facing blank walls. Partitions often separated inmates, silencing any chance of conversation. Food rations were meager, leaving bodies frail and spirits broken. It wasn’t just exhausting—it was dehumanizing.
The toll was staggering. Strong men crumpled under the strain, especially in sweltering summers. Some lost their grip on sanity, driven mad by the relentless monotony. A few didn’t survive. One famous victim was Oscar Wilde, the brilliant writer imprisoned in 1895 for his sexuality. At London’s Pentonville Prison, he endured the treadmill for three grueling months. Weakened and malnourished, he collapsed in the prison chapel, rupturing his eardrum—an injury some link to his death just two years after his release, at age 46.
Surprisingly, prison wardens loved the treadmill. They raved about its effects: quieter, more obedient inmates. Exhausted prisoners, it turns out, don’t have the energy to cause trouble. By the late 1800s, nearly 40 treadmills operated across British prisons, with the idea spreading to the U.S. and beyond. But as the 20th century dawned, attitudes shifted again. People began to see the treadmill’s cruelty for what it was—an excessive punishment that broke bodies and minds. In 1902, England banned it for good.
That could’ve been the end of the story. But decades later, an American named William Staub saw potential in this relic of torment. Doctors were already using similar devices to monitor heart rates, but Staub envisioned a mass-market fitness tool. He was right. Today, the treadmill reigns as the world’s top-selling gym equipment, raking in over $3 billion globally in 2020. The irony is thick: what once tortured prisoners is now a voluntary pastime, often costing a hefty gym fee.
So, next time you hop on a treadmill, consider its journey—from a punishing mill wheel to a fitness icon. In a prison, it was a merciless taskmaster. At your gym, it’s a choice—one you can stop anytime. Context, as they say, is everything.
blogpay
Total Comments: 0