For a guy who has often been told to take a hike, I am getting nowhere fast. That’s because I have gone back to the gym, after taking a breather for several weeks, only to discover that you need to be a rocket scientist to use the new treadmills.

The old machines were like me: simple, serviceable, a little outdated, nothing fancy, with moving parts that didn’t move as well as they used to, made suspicious noises when they did move and breathed a sigh of relief when they mercifully stopped moving.

But I needed to get back on track — or on tread — so I returned with absolutely no fanfare and saw that the shiny, sophisticated new machines belonged on the bridge of the Starship Enterprise.

“Do you need a degree in calculus to operate these things?” I asked a smart staffer named Maddox.

“Sometimes,” he answered. “It took me a couple of weeks.”

It was saying something considering that Maddox, who has grown up with modern technology, is 20 years old.

“I’m Generation Z,” he said.

“Nice to meet you,” I replied. “I’m Preparation H.”

“What’s your goal here?” Maddox asked.

“Not to leave in the back of an ambulance,” I said, adding that my cardiologist wants me to do cardio exercises.

“The treadmill is good for that,” said Maddox.

“I’m told that walking is the best kind of exercise, but I don’t get anywhere on the treadmill,” I said. “If I walk outside, I’d cover a lot of ground, but I could also get run over by a car or bitten by a dog.”

“You don’t have to worry about cars or dogs at the gym,” Maddox noted.

“But I do have to worry about not being able to operate these new treadmills,” I said.

The biggest problem is with the programs, which include 5K, 10K, Fat Burn, Rolling Hills, Manual Spring 8, Target HR, Incline, Interval Speed and Fitness Test.

“I don’t know what they mean, but I hope Fitness Test is easier than an algebra test,” I said.

“Are you bad at math?” Maddox asked.

“Yes,” I said. “And I have the checkbook to prove it.”

“Don’t worry, the treadmill does the counting for you,” said Maddox. “Do you know how to turn it on?”

“Sure,” I said. “Whisper sweet nothings into the screen. That’ll turn it on.”

Maddox pointed to an electronic button.

“I suppose I’ll have to put one foot in front of the other,” I said.

“That would help,” he replied. “You can see how miles per hour you are going, how many calories you are burning and what your heart rate is.”

I set the speed at 1 mph because, naturally, I didn’t want to get a ticket. I also didn’t want to collapse, be pulled under the running belt and come back out flattened like a flounder.

I soon found that 1 mph was slow even by my pathetic physical standards, so I doubled the speed, increased the incline and walked briskly while staying in the same spot — and sounding like an asthmatic mountain goat — for 10 minutes.

By the time I stopped, I had traveled, loosely speaking, a quarter of a mile. I also had burned 29 calories. And my heart rate, which started at 70, went all the way up to 93.

“I have a pulse,” I told Maddox.

“It looks like,” he said. “It also looks like you’ve gotten the hang of the treadmill. You mastered it faster than I did.”

“And I’m not even a rocket scientist,” I said. “But I am a geezer, so I don’t want to overdo it. When I get home, I’ll walk to the refrigerator for a beer. Then I’ll really be getting somewhere.”

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