Today’s top fitness machine has a twisted past originally built to punish prisoners. Discover how the treadmill went from penal device to modern workout essential.
If you're among the 51.8 million Americans who use a treadmill to break a sweat, you know the routine: legs pumping, sweat dripping, mind counting down the minutes.
But next time you're grinding out those final seconds, consider this what if your effort actually powered something? A lightbulb, a fan, even your own post-run shower?
It turns out, the treadmill wasn’t born out of fitness innovation. It began its life two centuries ago in England not as a gym tool, but as a method of punishment.
The treadmill, originally called the treadwheel, was invented in 1818 by William Cubitt, a British civil engineer with roots in mill machinery.
His best-known design involved a massive rotating wheel fitted with steps.
Prisoners at London’s Brixton Prison would step endlessly, pressing down with each footfall to rotate the wheel almost like log-rolling, only far more monotonous and fixed in place.
The energy generated sometimes ground corn or pumped water, but the main purpose was punitive toil.
Cubitt's machine could occupy up to 24 inmates at once. To curb chatter, partitions were eventually added between them.
Prisoners would trudge for ten hours a day during summer and a slightly more "lenient" seven in winter. It was harsh, mind-numbing work by design.
The treadmill fit neatly into a new wave of prison reform sweeping Britain at the turn of the 19th century.
Prisons had previously offered next to nothing; inmates relied on family for food and basic items, and corruption was rampant.
As institutions began providing necessities, critics feared people might commit crimes just for the perks.
Hard labor became the antidote a deterrent disguised as rehabilitation.
The machine also aimed to isolate prisoners, especially younger ones, to prevent them from gaining criminal “skills” from seasoned inmates.
By the mid-1800s, the treadmill had become widespread.
According to historian David H. Shayt, by 1842, over 100 prisons across Britain had installed them. Even Oscar Wilde, jailed for "gross indecency," did his time on one.
Yet, the treadmill soon lost its veneer of productivity. Historian U. R. Q. Henriques noted that what began as useful labor quickly became pointless suffering “grinding air,” he called it. Calls for change followed.
In 1882, Scientific American suggested hooking treadmills up to electric generators to store power, proposing a more practical use for all that physical effort.
But the physical toll was steep. In 1885, the British Medical Journal reported a prisoner’s death from heart disease induced by treadmill labor, citing a disturbing rate of one death per week in certain prisons.
The growing consensus? The treadmill was not only cruel, but ineffective.
Reform efforts caught momentum.
By the late 19th century, new prison laws increasingly limited the use of treadmills. By 1901, only 13 remained in use across Britain. What had once been viewed as a righteous path to redemption was now seen as outdated torture.
The treadmill crossed the Atlantic in 1822, making appearances in prisons from New York to Charleston and Philadelphia.
New York's East 26th Street facility built several treadmills, one costing $3,050.99 and capable of grinding 40–60 bushels of corn daily. Yet within five years, they were phased out.
American prison reformers, like their British counterparts, wrestled with the goals of punishment versus rehabilitation.
In 1827, the Prison Discipline Society of Boston criticized the treadmill as “useless” in preparing inmates for post-release life. Instead, a new approach emerged in Auburn, New York: “collective industry.”
Here, inmates worked side by side, producing goods in a controlled environment with strict discipline no talking, eyes down, and punishment by lash for infractions.
This model turned prisons into factories.
Inmates made shoes, clocks, rifles, and more, filling labor gaps in the broader economy.
While this setup raised its own ethical questions, it was at least productive. Treadmills, with their aimless repetition, faded into irrelevance.
Though abandoned by the justice system, the treadmill found new life in the fitness world. A 1913 U.S. patent described a “training machine,” marking its first steps toward redemption.
Then, in the 1960s, engineer William Staub introduced the PaceMaster 600, one of the first home-use treadmills.
He not only invented it, but used it until age 96.
Today, the treadmill is the most popular exercise machine in the U.S.
It’s endured, evolved, and embedded itself into everyday fitness culture. We run indoors through rainstorms, deserts, and winters not to be punished, but to train, sweat, and strive.
It’s still monotonous. Sometimes painful. Occasionally dangerous.
But now we step on willingly, choosing a machine that once symbolized punishment and turning it into a path toward personal power.
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