Why am I doing this?

Here's why:


This guy, right here.

I mean, sure, I’m doing it for my wife, and of course I’m doing it for me, and I’m doing it because I really need to, but most importantly, for this little dude. I want to be here a long time. I want to be here when he needs to check for monsters under the bed. I want to teach him about Godzilla and Ultraman. I want to be there when his mother says “Go ask your father!” (to which we all know the proper response is “Well, what did your mother say?”). I want to fly model rockets and take him to every aquarium I can. I want to nag him to clean his room, mow the lawn, and for heaven’s sake, pull up your pants! I want to be able to run and jump, play catch, shoot hoops and do whatever he needs me to do, and I can’t do that if I’m winded or, God forbid, dead.

So, Owen, it’s for you I get up at the crack of the crack of dawn. It’s for you I am eating bran cereal instead of sausage patties on bagels and biscuits. It’s for you I am walking. It’s for you that I am taking the stairs. It’s for you and Mama that I intend to get in shape for, because the time here on this planet is precious, and I want as much of it as I can grab to spend with you guys.