“Yesterday’s weirdness is tomorrow’s reason why.” – Hunter S. Thompson
To recap:
1. I’m in Cabo for New Years with sloppy Tim.
2. I drag Tim to the gym and force him through his first workout in years while he forces a six pack of Coronas down his throat.
3. We skip off into the night looking for romance. Tim pukes in a bush.
The next morning at breakfast, Tim is so throughly wrecked from our workout he can’t pick up his fork.
That sounded like an exaggeration, so I’ll say it again:
Tim actually can’t pick up his fork.
I think he’s physically capable, but is such a ninny about being sore that he asks his lady-friend to cut his bacon into pieces and feed them directly into his mouth.
(charming mfxer he is, she actually does it)
You can’t make this sh*t up.
Between bites, he’s cursing me, himself, our forefathers of physical exercise, and the greater universal forces at large for manipulating him into that gym.
By the time he’d stopped complaining, we’d already finished our trip and flown home.
What Tim didn’t / doesn’t / won’t understand, is this:
The pain is the point.
That workout he swore he’d never do again, because it hurt too much…
Those sets he stopped early, because they hurt too much…
The fork he struggled to lift the next day, because it hurt too much…
The reason it “hurt” was the reason we did it:
Pain forces adaptation.
Pain creates growth.
Pain makes breakfast in Cabo hilarious.
Pain is the point, Romeo. *
But you already knew that.
For the part you may not know…
…Which is the real point of this email, and took me way too long to get to, hence the three-part series…
…Tune in tomorrow 🙂
– T
* Disclaimers: avoid sharp pain, only generate as much pain as you can recover from and/or successfully annihilate your drunken friend with, girls like men who can feed themselves, stay in school, don’t do drugs (disclaimer to the disclaimer: unless you really want to, in which case, free country), don’t puke in bushes until Mexican police officers have turned around, mid-workout Coronas not advised.
