Overhead at the gym last night:

Buff Guy A: Man, I’m just now getting down to my summer body fat percentage. 

Buff Guy B: <snickers> Summer body fat percentage? 

A: Yeah, man. You know how it is. Mine always goes up like 3 percent over the winter. 

B: I feel you. It’s just hard to get in here.

These guys were fit and seemed proud of it. Their conversation stirred my apprehension about staying in shape over the winter. It doesn’t help that almost everyone I’ve talked to about the cold season (rather, those who have issued me unsolicited warnings) offer a bleak, hopeless outlook.

Generally, my glass is refillable. It’s neither half full nor half empty, though I lean toward the latter. I don’t expect (and at times become irritated by) an abundance of positivity.

So I don’t expect I’ll be bounding toward the gym when it turns cold. I don’t expect I’ll want to go more often than I don’t. I don’t expect my motivation to be as present as it is on a day like today, 88 degrees and dry.

But I do expect myself to try. Always. To just try. The people in Chicago I’d like to meet exist, and they say: Yeah, it’s harder when it’s cold. But that’s why you do it. And you will.