It has always slightly irritated me that my "product" is not tangible. It's not something you can see, touch, smell, hear, or taste.

I'm not selling a warm cup of coffee, or a tasty treat. My "product" will not make you feel drunk or high. You can not wrap my "product" with a bow. No one will be excited opening a box to find what I am selling. In fact, if you gave your partner a gift card to my gym—unsolicited—it might get you in trouble.

My "product" will make you feel uncomfortable. In fact, I will ask you to lean into that discomfort day after day. You will feel like shit. You might cry.

But, yet, there is no other "product" that can deliver like mine can. The hopeful futures you are sold when you buy a pack of cigarettes, or shampoo, or a car, are utterly and despairingly disconnected from reality: a pack of Kools will not make you more attractive; Herbal Essence Shampoo, by itself, will not lead to an intense orgasm; you will, most likely, spend most of your time stuck in traffic in that adventurous four-wheeler.

There are very few things that will actually deliver a hopeful future like my "product" can when you consume it daily. Once the cash has been exchanged, however, more is required of you; a daily transaction of sweat, effort, and discomfort.

Daily, you will cross the River Styx. I am Charon at the gates. Your toll is compulsory. Paid enough, in time, you will be like the Greek heroes and heroines of time immemorial:

Your future—just as tragic—though lined with triumph along the way.