For months—come to think of it, years, I had this idea in my head that one day, when I drop all of this fat, I'd run in marathons. I mean, that's the ultimate thing to do, right? It's such a contrast from that life on the couch with the grime of cheesy poofs across my face. To reach that level and do well is a commitment. All of that sweat equity. And those who reach the pinnacle of the sport have a body that...looks sickly. I get it; I understand the value of looking like a feather-plucked bird running in the Boston Marathon. But, is it worth all of that time when no one can tell how accomplished they are sans their pointing at a picture of a finish line on the wall? I mean, if I was out shopping at Home Depot or Walmart with a marathoner's body, would anyone think I was fit or would they just think I was late to a few racks of ribs in my life?

Naw, that's the anti-optimized life. But, if folks get their funzies looking like HeiHei from Moana, I'll clap them straight to the finish line.

Now, I'm not disparaging running. In fact, I look forward to running 5Ks and 10Ks. Again, I have this dream of returning to Memphis in the cool of a spring morning and running in those places of old. My thing is to ask: what is the end goal? What is the ideal? I look at elite marathon runners and know I don't want that.

Let's go with the other health extreme: BEEFCAKE. No, I don't want that. Not even as a natty bodybuilder. I'm not a Death Star; I have no interest in giving one big hit and need to recharge. Now, those with traps over their head are impressive, but they don't build them for endurance. Sometimes I wonder if those monsters of muscle are as frightened of cardio as their cartoon equivalent is of mice. Sure, I covet aspects of their physique just as I do the marathoners' will. But, I have little interest in lifting weights so that I can lift heavier weights only to waddle around a gym like a Cylon refrigerator.

But, don't confuse what I'm saying with some sort of excuse for...a lackadaisical life...a C average...a thirst for lukewarm water...a low-bar mediocrity. There's enough folks out there pouting their I think I can'ts.

Frak that.

No, it is an ideal, one in which I pursued in various disciplines for years. The first time I recognized its attraction was in my natural inclination to choose hybrid classes in MMORPGs like Everquest and later World of Warcraft. I appreciated a character who could do aspects of everything: a DPS, healer, and in a pinch, a tank—a Johnny-on-the-Spot (later I would move to a hunter in WoW so that I could be an army of one). I would recognize it in my own tendences, whether in high school as a geek-jock (unlike today, in '95, geeks WERE NOT COOL) as the president of the computer club while being a varsity wrestler. Or later, where I went from IT support to English teaching and then flipped back to IT, two fields where those in them tend to lack the capabilities of the other. I was never the strongest in either—you'd never expect me to admin an enterprise-level database or have me read Beowulf in its original pronunciation, but I have dual citizenship.

I'm naturally drawn toward developing a program that grabs aspects of both the fleet-footed and the colossus. It's one that attempts to balance stamina and strength, while focusing on agility. Yesterday, I heavily considered excluding martial arts from my program, that perhaps I should just move in a straight line for an hour or just pick up heavy things and put them down. Oh, but how that would have removed the vibrancy—the HEART of my training!

I remain developing a program that is specific to me as I look to the future—a program of balancing stamina, strength, and agility...

...To move freely and interact in the world;

...To glide upon the earth and spring to the heavens above;

...To stretch out my arms like Wolverine and rail against the tempest of Death.

And you better believe it'll result in chiseling out my well-defined abs, "you can bet your hard-earned dollar I will."

But in the mean time, tomorrow is another Arms day.