We all know we should stretch.

Every trainer, doctor, and smugly bendy yoga influencer says so.

“It’s essential for flexibility and longevity,” they chirp as I pretend to listen while lacing up my running shoes.

I exercise. Isn’t that enough? I run, I lift, I sweat.

Stretching feels like the movie credits…technically part of the show, but easy to skip.

But lately, the warning signs are there. Tying my shoes elicits groans, reversing the car requires a full-body swivel, and one stumble could possibly send me into traction.

They say flexibility equals youth.

Tomorrow I will stretch. Hopefully, before my workout. Or while reaching for the remote.

Baby steps.

I promise to not settle for good intentions.

Yesterday, I did a stretch and weight class with my daughter.

I need to stretch at least three times a week.

After screwing my body into good luck positions during a devastating NY Giant lose last night I fully realize that I have to be flexible to make it through life,

Politically, I am completely inflexible.