That day, Todd didn't go to the bar. Instead he went home and dug his weights out of the garage. He set up his weight bench and started pumping right away. After a few repetitions, he realized he was not as strong as he used to be. He pumped a few more times and now his muscles hurt.
   He went to his book shelf and found his old weight lifting book. He opened it and started reading. He found a few more ways to lift weights and tried them out. Every different position he found in that book, he tried. He made a chart on the wall listing them all. And after he lifted weights in every position imaginable, he rested.
   He sat on the edge of his bed and realized he was tired. It was only seven o'clock. He laid down and thought, if I go to sleep now, then I will probably wake up at three o'clock in the morning. He usually woke up at five. What will I do for an extra two hours, he wondered? He used to go jogging at five-fifteen every morning. Now, he thought he would go earlier. He wanted to try to jog more anyway, so maybe the extra time will help. He rubbed a sore muscle and fell asleep.
   He opened his eyes at exactly three o'clock. He threw on his jogging outfit and hit the road. After his usual two miles, he still felt strong. He kept going. He jogged another two miles! He surprised himself. He found himself still a mile away from home and he walked the rest of the way home. Five miles, he thought, that would be a good goal to shoot for.
   When he got home, he went straight to the weight room. Even though his muscles were sore, he pumped a few of each position on the chart.
   As he pumped, he began to feel sorry for himself. Why me, he wondered? Only one other guy in the world had this disease and now I get it. Why? Why a small town guy like me and not some neighbor of this Mr. Pigannelli? He began to look back at his life. He hadn't accomplished much. No empire he built, just a small house in a small town. His work wasn't too meaningful either. He always wanted to do something great. Something that would be remembered by all. He wanted to leave his mark. And now he wouldn't even get the chance. He always thought he would remarry too. But now that looked quite unlikely. He had no family to leave his house to. Only a few friends at a bar. He had no savings account to speak of. He didn't even have a reason to live.
   He changed positions with the weights and changed positions with his way of thinking too. I am not going to feel sorry for myself, he thought. I am going to use this disease as a reason to get stronger. I am going down with a fight. I'll find a reason to live if it's the last thing I do. I'll do something fantastic before I leave this planet. And it starts right here, with these weights. I'll build myself up to the strongest person I have ever been.
   As he was convincing himself that he had a reason to live, the doorbell rang. His neighbor Ben wanted to return a tool he had borrowed. And then it hit him. He remembered how the people in Chicago used to be so cold and only out for themselves. And how the people around here were so nice. He belonged to a community now. He was a part of the grand scheme of things. He was helping this world. It was a better place because he was in it. He was a good neighbor and a good friend. Someone who could be counted on. Someone who could be trusted. That was important.
    Todd continued to work out for two more months. He found himself running five miles a day easily. He was stronger than ever too. He could lift more weight now than when he was twenty-two and in the army. His outlook was turning more positive about life. He hadn't fainted yet and things were looking good. He was proud of himself for what he had accomplished physically. He was strong as an ox, he thought to himself and laughed out loud. If strength was the key to longevity, he had it now.
   His boss didn't bother him anymore. He tried though. But it didn't work anymore. He would smile that fake smile and dump more work on Todd. And Todd would just laugh it off and say "is that all you can dish out?"
   He still went to the bar everyday, but now he only drank one drink each day. The doctor said one drink a day was good for you, but two wasn't. And he even tried to convince all of his buddies at the bar to cut it back a little. And some did. He was feeling pretty good about himself now and nothing could break him. Not even a disease. After all, he had no symptoms. And when it would start, it would soon be over. So it was therefore pointless to even consider worrying about.

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