My friend Earl is in trouble. He’s overweight and underfit, his blood pressure is misbehaving and his doctor is not happy at all. Richard and I have been encouraging him to join us in our boot-camp style workouts, knowing that the former college football-player in Earl would enjoy the commaraderie and mental challenges.
So at 7am on Saturday, Earl dutifully showed up in front of the gym. I had stressed to him multiple times that there were plenty of people who walked in the group, that he didn’t have to try to keep up with the marathon runners. Testosterone kicked in at least once and he reportedly ran a few times as our group moved through the trails near the gym.
B wanted to know if I’d taken out a life insurance policy on Earl. He was pale and sweating profusely and had inexplicably left his water bottle in his car.
I’m not at all convinced that Earl will join our group of crazy fitness nuts. I’m not even convinced that he’s really motivated to make the changes necessary to transform himself to a healthier and (I presume) happier Earl. But in that proverbial journey of a thousand miles, he’s taken that first step, tentative though it may be. I’m proud of you, Earl. And when you’re ready to finish that journey, I’ll be by your side the whole way.
