Years ago while I was a grad student in SF, I saw an abandoned futon in my apartment complex garage. Now I really wanted a futon (this was 1997) and being a grad student in San Francisco, I was broke. (Broke being the same level of understatement as saying that my daughter is stubborn. I was more broke than one of her toys). So I eyed the slightly distressed, homeless futon frame which great desire. I suggested to my husband that we take it upstairs. He wanted none of it. I did. Back and forth. Finally, he declared that if I could get it upstairs, we could keep it. He left me in the garage and went up to the apartment. I am quite sure that he was expecting me to follow two minutes later sans futon.
Now I am a pretty small person and the futon was much larger up close than it had seemed across the garage. And this was a large garage and of course, the futon was on the far side from our bank of elevators. Did I mention that there was a two-door self-locking entrance to the elevators. However, I was undeterred. (I can be stubborn and fearless, at times. Unfortunately, it seems like this streak appears in completely useless times. You should see me at Sudoku.) So thirty minutes and three huge bruises later, my husband opened the door to find me grimy and sweaty but with a HUGE smile on my face. He moved it inside, positioned it by the window, and never said another word. Smart boy!
As I challenge myself this year to jump some hurdles and climb some ladders, I am going to remind myself of that futon, I wanted it. I conquered it. And I sat comfortably on it for three years.