I have a one-word reason why fitness is important:


Yes, fiends and neighbors, I made a run to IKEA, land of flat-pack furniture, yesterday.

While I was there, I hauled a number of sixty-pound boxes off a number of shelves, along with some twenty-pound boxes and a couple of smaller things, and put all of said poundage into a cart.

Then I hauled it outside to the long-suffering Honda.

Then I hauled it out of the L.S.H and into the house.

And, finally, with the aid of most of a six-pack, a delivery pizza, and plenty of Ramones, I put the IKEA stuff together, took everything save the washer, dryer, and treadmill out of my utility room, painted the utility room, and put everything back in.

All told it took me six hours of steady hard labor. That was six hours of steady hard labor that I wouldn't have been able to do at thirty, and which most people couldn't manage at thirty-nine--and I was able to do it all because I work very hard at being strong and fairly fit.

Think about it like this: working out, especially at things that are *hard*, does two things:

It teaches your body how to respond to hard work that doesn't involve barbells, and

It teaches your brain that even the most horrible misery is temporary.

If you're really serious, you can even train your brain to remember that the results are almost always worth it.

Attila just left. She worked me hard even though I'm still sore from yesterday's renovation adventures. For that reason, this is all the post I'm going to be able to manage. Remember this, though:

Being able to outlift the dudes in the belts at IKEA?

*Totally* a rush.

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