Time for a trim.
Yes, step into those grass-stained workboots, toss on a faded ballcap, and roll the rusty mower out of the wobbly tin shed. You’re about to spend an hour mindlessly chopping lawn so stare at those grass-covered wheels, duct-taped wires, and chippy paint patches before getting down to business.
Now, if you’re like me then before pulling that cord you sort of get it in your mind that you’re in for three or four full-body yanks before that machine starts purring. I don’t know about you, but since I’m a limp, wimpy noodle of a man I find pulling that cord about as physically draining as benchpressing a full keg of beer, building a house out of boulders, or dragging an 18-wheeler up a steep hill with a rope.
See, 
I put my whole body into it and just get some slow sputtering. Wheeze, wheeze, die, you feel me?
But hey, that’s what makes it great when us noodles pull those cords and they start up on the first pull. Now when the motor starts up and the gas fumes float up we suddenly get to feel like the World’s Strongest Human.
Yes, pass the black spandex shorts, tattoo a skull on our neck, and toss us some barbells, baby.
We’re going in.
AWESOME!
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