I'll send one more email.

Let me knock out a few more calls.

I'm hungry. I'm tired. I don't have the time.

That's the meeting my brain holds every time I know I should be training.

I never lose that argument. I just never show up for it.

At 49, my body stopped covering for me.

Wrestling in the house with my son last week, I was gassed. 

Then there's the golf shirt.

It used to go tight at the shoulders and loose the rest of the way down.

Now it's tight to tight.

Top to bottom.

The shirt doesn't care what's on my calendar.

There will always be a reason. Always. 

Kids, clients, a phone that won't quit.

So the excuse isn't the problem. Waiting for a day without one is the problem.

Until it's non-negotiable, it's negotiable.

So make it non-negotiable and then remove every barrier you can find.

No drive. No membership. No gym clothes hunt.

Thirty minutes in the garage gets it done. Dumbbells, a bench, whatever's out there collecting dust next to the Christmas bins.

Nobody's handing you an extra hour.

But you've got thirty minutes hiding somewhere, and you know exactly where it is.

Time isn't the enemy. It's the asset.

Spend it, or watch it get spent on you.

Now if you excuse me, I have to go hit my 30-minute garage jailhouse workout.😉

In your corner,

Greg

P.S. — My kids don't need me to deadlift a truck. They need me to still be able to catch them at 60.