For the past few years I have repeatedly told myself "All I need to do is eat a little healthier and run on a semi-consistent basis. I can totally do that I just don't feel like it right now." And technically that was true. But, for some reason, excuses for not going out and running kept cropping up. Here are a few of my favorites from the past two-and-a-half years.

1. It's too cold.

2. It's too hot.

3. It's raining.

4. I don't know how far I should run.

5. I hate running.

6. That crow looks like he might mock me.

All valid excuses that, when combined, made an ideal running day about as common as a solar eclipse. So we strolled into 24-hour fitness and Shelbi endured the first of what will likely be 500 "Wait, how late are they open?" jokes. As we were waiting to get our tour of the gym we both watched the young man at the front desk. He looked at people's cards and addressed them by their first names, did the finger gun point to other employees, was virtually running in place while manning his post and, as a capper, mentioned to a member that it was his birthday that night and he should stop by 'Cuda after 11 p.m. and mention his name at the door to get in. 'Cuda is, apparently, short for Baracuda, notably known as Portland's finest club/meat market and the proud owner of at least a dozen liquor code infractions. It was as though this guy had just memorized two separated handbooks the night before. "How to be a Gym Employee Stereotype" and "Ways to Ensure that Matt Sherman will Avoid Eye Contact with you for the Rest of your Life."

We got the tour which, for me, only needed to consist of being shown the treadmills. I'm not going to take Pilates are water aerobics nor am I going to lift dumbbells while staring intently at myself in the mirror. And that was it. Despite our supreme awkwardness, we decided that this was something we needed to do. And, the second time we showed up, Elliott practically clawed Shelbi's face off to be put down into the kids' play area. So we know he doesn't object either.