Yesterday I was lamenting my old sofa that was standing upright in my kitchen, too big for me to carry out by myself, and even if I could, where would it go?
Then, as if by magic, I got a call from my buddy Brian. "Hey, what's going on?" he asked.
"Not much. Just hoping to get this stupid couch outta here."
"Ooh, I have a truck. Should I come over and help?"
Seriously... how things tend to work out for me like this by pure luck I don't know, but I don't question it.
Anyway, he and another friend show up and after a bit of chit-chatting, we begin to get the sofa out of the apartment.
After wresting it out the door, Brian turns to Nigel and says, "Gosh, Roder's pretty strong Nige." I overheard it and said nothing, but smiled inside a bit.
Once downstairs with the sofa, we then had to carry it for what seems like a 1/4 mile through the courtyard. Brian was on one end and I held the other end and we walked with the couch, but about halfway down the walk Brian set down his end. "I need a breather, hang on," he said.
"Nigel, can you grab that?" I asked. Nigel tagged in and picked it up and we kept going.
Here's the thing. Brian's in shape. Good shape. He runs or bikes several miles everyday. So for him to get wiped out carrying the couch down and out, while the likes of my fat ass just lifting it and carrying it? Let's just say I felt pretty good.
Lifting weights is kinda sweet. :)