“Exercise?” I repeated. “Fuck yeah!”
It had been a month since I decided to say “yes” to things that I didn’t really want to do. It was a lovely experiment in terror.
Since it was a new year, I wanted to make myself a better human, which included challenging myself.
If you know me, you know that I hate change and especially hate doing things on the fly. But all of that was about to sneak up on me and punch me in the nards.
The first time I said yes was when I was hungover on New Year’s day. My buddy asked if I wanted a beer. My head screamed no, my belly screamed no, but I said yes.
After a couple, I realized that this “saying yes” thing was a superb idea, and I was going to rock the socks off the new year.
But each day tormented me as I forced myself to say yes to tractor pulls, sushi, chick flicks, cleaning the house, missing football, and chopping wood. What the hell? Even at work, I was already doing the job of three people, and within a week of saying yes, I was doing systematic algorithms – and I don’t even know what that is!
And there I was – a month into this project – trying to understand whether it was worth continuing or not… I had yet to see a benefit to saying yes.
I got home from work and plopped down on the couch. Grabbing the remote, I stuffed my claws into the bag of Cheetos – dinner of champions! And I was gonna get rip-roaring drunk!
Three manhattans in, my buddy called me – he was going to the gym – did I want to go? All I needed, he said, was a little exercise…