So I drank the Kool-Aid.  It tasted a bit like lactic acid.

And bile.

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.

For them.