So I drank the Kool-Aid. It tasted a bit like lactic acid.
Yeah… I started a workout program this past Monday. It’s really more of a ritualistic penitential rite shrouded with self loathing and torture. At least that’s my initial take on the whole thing. I’m not quite sure what led me to believe I was in any way shape or form ready to tackle a fitness regimen but then, logic and reasoning have never been one of my strong suits. As proof I can only allude to a story involving small mouth bass, my best friend, a canoe and a cow in the middle of a river. It wasn’t pretty.
Needless to say neither, is the image if me plodding through a series of exercises.
I’m five days in and as near as I can tell haven’t lost a pound. I’m sore pretty much all over, smell, I’ve cut my coffee to 1 cup a day, I’d really like some Peanut M&M’s, and I have been drinking so much water than I can’t sleep for having to pee all night long. Other than that things seem to be going pretty well.
So why am I doing it?
Let’s just say I’ve got 5 really good reasons.
My father passed away when I was only two years old. I have no recollection of the man. Good or bad, that is what it is. And while my grandfather was a great man and I loved him dearly we never did the things that a father and son typically do. He never threw me a ball or taught me to ride a bike. We never took trips to the park or just hung out. When I turned 12 he passed as well.
That kind of shit stays with a guy.
My kids have collectively reached the ages where I suppose I would be remembered, unlike me and my father. But that’s not the point. I don’t want them to remember me. I want them to grow up knowing me. That won’t happen unless I am willing to make changes personally. Changes that will enable me to be an active participant in their lives. Not an idle bystander.
So yeah, I drank the Kool-Aid. It sucks. But in the end I know it will be worth it — not for me.