I was visiting a mate’s office the other day (I was visiting the mate, too, to be clear. Not just his office. That would’ve been weird). He met me at reception, then called an elevator. We hopped in, and travelled up - wait for it - one floor. Yup. We took the lift for a single storey.
This struck me as exorbitantly lazy - which is not in keeping with my friend’s character. So I had to ask. I was like, “Fred*, what’s the deal? You’re gonna die young, fat, and alone.” OK, I didn’t say the last bit, but it was exactly what sprang to mind. I may have made a few leaps in my head - but those are more leaps than we took travelling up the building. We took zero leaps. And I was immediately worried about Fred’s physical health and future marital prospects.
Fred shrugged at me. “What difference would it make? It’s only one storey, it’s not going to change my life.”
A small, overzealous klaxon sounded somewhere in the depths of my temporal lobe. (Or so the internet tells me). It was chiming something to the tune of “Fred, you mad bastard, you couldn’t be more wrong!”
I set out my stall.
“Fred,” I implored, with a piety that would put the Pope to shame, “Don’t you see? It’s part of something bigger. This is about your attitude to life.”
Fred raised an eyebrow in a way that suggested he already regretted inviting me over. Fuck you, Fred, I’m a great friend.
“Firstly, it’s wasteful. Lifts require electricity which contributes to blah blah blah go read the Guardian.” (Fred’s views on the media are actually fascinating. I’ll save them for another time.)
I ditched the environment angle - although Fred was receptive to that. But for once the bee buzzing in my recently-turned vegetarian bonnet was about something else.
Part 2. Marginal gains
“Fred, this is about the micro opportunities we overlook every single day. Think about it: you go down to the lobby all the time. That could be two trips on a flat metal platform that moves your body for you, or you could get a whiff of circulation in your oxygen-starved office brain by trundling up and down using your motherfucking feet.”
(Again, paraphrasing slightly).
Fred’s curious.
“You know the story about British Cycling?” I ask.
He does not. And he still might not, because I didn’t actually reference them at the time, but they were what came to mind.
A few years ago, when Sky decided to become the lead sponsor in the British national cycling team, they took a new approach which, within just a few years, made them the number one team in the world. It can be surmised in two words: marginal gains.
They realised that everyone in the cycling world had already pushed the core methods of progress to the limit - there were no big changes left to make. So how did Team Sky make this breakthrough in performance? By focusing on micro improvements - and lots of them. Kinda like a snowball effect - enough small changes bundled together can create something big.
I see stairs the same way. They’re low hanging fruits.
It’s like when you pass people on the tube, who stand still twice a day, every day, and let a machine drag them up to ground level. I don’t get it. It’s an easy, two minute opportunity to improve your life, why pass that up? Maybe they just really love being underground, and want to eek it out? Or maybe the person standing in front smells of cinnamon and rainbows?
Part 3. Felicity
It reminds me of a former colleague (different office). Let’s call her Felicity. She was undergoing a crash diet to lose a few pounds ahead of a beach holiday - fair play for effort. But for all Felicity’s lamentations about her plain rice and chicken lunch, and abstinence from biscuits, she still couldn’t be arsed to take the stairs. We worked two floors up. It wasn’t exactly scaling Mount Olympus.
Felicity’s approach kinda explains how the weight was gained - I’m gonna call it neglecting the margins. You heard it here first. TM, (R), Copyright, Patent-pending, all that. MY IDEA. Maybe. I dunno, maybe someone else has thought of it too. Who cares, the point stands.
“Oh, but I’m tired!” I hear you whine. Get a grip. Of the handrail. One foot in front of the other. And enjoy being alive.
Whether or not Fred and Felicity have subscribed to my logic remains to be seen. But next time you’re getting off the tube, take a look at the people lining up for the escalator and ask yourself what kind of snowballs they’re rolling - marginal gains or marginal neglect?
Then sprint up the escalator while puffing “Gold” by Spandau Ballet, and take a selfie at the top. You deserve it, champ.
Part 4. Roll the snowball
As I said to Fred, the whole point is that this attitude applies to more than just stairs. Think about friendships - how often do you pass the same people in corridors, but feel too inhibited to say hi or ask their name? Spoilers: say hello. They’re a frickin’ human. So long as you’re not creepy and weird about it, and aren’t talking in a gruff voice in a dark alley, then odds are they’ll respond favourably and say “hello” back. If words are hard, just try cracking a smile. It’s a real evolutionary winner. Think: marginal gains - a few smiles here, a few hellos there, and eventually, “Hey I’m [insert name]”, Now look at you, you’ve darn gone made a friend. (Assuming you correctly insert your name. Don’t fall at the first hurdle).
IT skills are the same.
So many of my peers - we’re talking frigging No-Eexcuse-It-Was-Spoon-Fed-To-You Millennials here - wash their hands of technological competence. For many of them, by the time they hit their late twenties I think it’s like become a wall of the unknown, which seems insurmountable. Sod that - start chipping away. The wall gets higher every time you outsource basic solutions to someone else, so grab a sledge hammer and google “How do I fix this?”. You’ll amaze yourself.
Let’s be honest, not being bothered to google simple solutions is the modern equivalent of not wiping your own arse. Just do it. No one wants to deal with your shit.
So my message is simple: go for the marginal gains in life. Make it routine. And you’ll find you routinely reap the benefits. It’s that simple.
Always take the stairs.
Much love.
*Fred is not his real name, it’s a pseudonym and is short for “Soon-To-Be-Super-Fat-Fred”. Currently, he’s not fat at all - he’s actually outrageously trim. The git. But the nickname amused me. Sure, the humour’s largely lost by just abbreviating it to Fred, but look at it from Soon-To-Be-Super-Fat-Fred’s point of view - you gonna go to Starbucks and order a coffee with that kinda name? Or try and book a flight? You’d need extra leg room just for the hyphens. Madness. So take your grief elsewhere - he’s Fred and that’s the bloody end of it, alright?
