I was visiting a mateâs office the other day (I was visiting the mate, too, to be clear. Not just his office. That wouldâve 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.Â
This struck me as exorbitantly lazy - which is not in keeping with my friendâs character. So I had to ask. I was like, âFred*, whatâs the deal? Youâre gonna die young, fat, and alone.â OK, I didnât 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 Fredâs physical health and future marital prospects.
Fred shrugged at me. âWhat difference would it make? Itâs only one storey, itâs not going to change my life.â
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 âFred, you mad bastard, you couldnât be more wrong!â
I set out my stall.
âFred,â I implored, with a piety that would put the Pope to shame, âDonât you see? Itâs part of something bigger. This is about your attitude to life.â
Fred raised an eyebrow in a way that suggested he already regretted inviting me over. Fuck you, Fred, Iâm a great friend.
âFirstly, itâs wasteful. Lifts require electricity which contributes to blah blah blah go read the Guardian.â (Fredâs views on the media are actually fascinating. Iâll 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
âFred, 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.â
(Again, paraphrasing slightly).
Fredâs curious.
âYou know the story about British Cycling?â I ask.
He does not. And he still might not, because I didnât 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.Â
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.Â
I see stairs the same way. Theyâre low hanging fruits.
Itâs 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 donât get it. Itâs 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). Letâs 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 Felicityâs lamentations about her plain rice and chicken lunch, and abstinence from biscuits, she still couldnât be arsed to take the stairs. We worked two floors up. It wasnât exactly scaling Mount Olympus.Â
Felicityâs approach kinda explains how the weight was gained - Iâm 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.
âOh, but Iâm tired!â 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 youâre getting off the tube, take a look at the people lining up for the escalator and ask yourself what kind of snowballs theyâre rolling - marginal gains or marginal neglect?
Then sprint up the escalator while puffing âGoldâ 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. Theyâre a frickinâ human. So long as youâre not creepy and weird about it, and arenât talking in a gruff voice in a dark alley, then odds are theyâll respond favourably and say âhelloâ back. If words are hard, just try cracking a smile. Itâs a real evolutionary winner. Think: marginal gains - a few smiles here, a few hellos there, and eventually, âHey Iâm [insert name]â, Now look at you, youâve darn gone made a friend. (Assuming you correctly insert your name. Donât fall at the first hurdle).
IT skills are the same.Â
So many of my peers - weâre 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 itâs 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 âHow do I fix this?â. Youâll amaze yourself.Â
Letâs 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 youâll find you routinely reap the benefits. Itâs that simple.Â
Always take the stairs.
Much love.
*Fred is not his real name, itâs a pseudonym and is short for âSoon-To-Be-Super-Fat-Fredâ. Currently, heâs not fat at all - heâs actually outrageously trim. The git. But the nickname amused me. Sure, the humourâs largely lost by just abbreviating it to Fred, but look at it from Soon-To-Be-Super-Fat-Fredâs point of view - you gonna go to Starbucks and order a coffee with that kinda name? Or try and book a flight? Youâd need extra leg room just for the hyphens. Madness. So take your grief elsewhere - heâs Fred and thatâs the bloody end of it, alright?
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