I wanted to write about my torture device.
This is actually an antique from the Middle-Ages, originally used to remind people who forgot they were Jewish that they were indeed the children of Abraham.
You climb a little step. It's pretty comfortable. A nice handle on each side. Very stable. Look, it's a little cup-holder thingy. And look at all these buttons!
So this post was supposed to be about the torture device I have upstairs, the one that makes my face look like a ripe tomato, makes me cry inside, scares me... The torture device I hate because it reminds me on a nearly-daily basis how I have let myself go.
I mean, there are people who exercise, and there are cool people like me. There are people who put themselves through shit, and there are people who know life's too short. There are "You-can-do-it!" self-delusional yuppie douchebags, and there are those who know life was never meant to be a struggle.
So why do I do it? I don't know. Because it's there. And because the doctor told me I had to do it if I wanted to see my son grow up.
And on Father's Day I sent the boy and his mother away to grandma, and I climbed my torture device, and I pressed some buttons. And I finally reached 5 miles, which was my Father's Day gift to myself.
So I wanted to write about all that, but instead, here's a video for Honey: