Congratulations to Jonas Molina for Winning the May 2026 Barefoot Writing Challenge! (Your $100 prize is on its way!)
The challenge was to write an essay that answered this prompt:
What’s something you hate doing that you wish you enjoyed?
Jonas shared a hilarious account of something he’s up to that’s changing his life, even though he doesn’t want to admit it. 😊 Enjoy his entertaining submission:
A Confession from a Man Who Hates the Gym
by a reluctant 64‑year‑old
Look, let me be clear before I start: I hate exercising. I have hated it since the Reagan administration. My knees creak like a screen door, my back files formal complaints, and I am carrying around a stomach that arrives before me when I enter a room. So if you are looking for one of those leathery older men in spandex telling you that sit‑ups changed his life, you have the wrong guy.
And yet. Here is the part I have never quite admitted out loud.
There is a moment, about 10 minutes into a walk, when something quiet happens. The grumbling in my head goes still. My breathing settles into a rhythm I do not have to think about. The dog stops yanking the leash and trots beside me like we are finally on the same team. I notice I have taken time to smell the roses. I notice I have not thought about my work in 20 minutes. I am, against my will, content.
I will not call it a runner’s high. I am not running. I am ambling, with dignity. But there is a small, embarrassing energy that runs through me afterward, the feeling I associate with finishing a 10,000‑piece puzzle or fixing a leaky faucet. A feeling of Well, look at that; this old machine still works.
I like the shower afterward more than any shower has a right to be liked. I like the way my coffee tastes when I have earned it a little. I like that my godson asked me to kick a soccer ball with him last weekend, and I did not have to invent an excuse. Nor did I chase my breath when it chased the ball. I lasted 11 minutes. He was thrilled. I was, secretly, thrilled too.
I like that my doctor has stopped giving me the look. You know the look: the head‑to‑toe scan, the almost audible sigh. Now I get a nod, and we move on to ordinary chatter about sports. That alone is worth a great deal of suffering on a stationary bike.
Here is what I will not say in front of my wife, because she will be insufferable about it: I have started to miss it on the days I skip. Not crave it, exactly. Miss it, the way you miss a stubborn old friend who is annoying but somehow improves the room.
So, fine. You got me. I do not enjoy exercise the way thin people in yogurt commercials do. But I enjoy who I am for the rest of the day after I have done it. I enjoy being a man who can still surprise himself.
Please do not tell anyone.
I have my well‑roundedness to protect.
