So, our weather is finally turning from miserable to bearable, which means I need to drop everything, squeeze into a pair of bicycle shorts, lace up my cross-trainers and bolt out the front door to soak up some of Mother Nature’s finest. At least that’s what the fine folks at this magazine are imploring me to do in this week’s issue. To which I respond, ever so respectfully: Screw you! Have you checked a calendar recently? Are you aware that the football season has kicked off? And that the baseball season is winding down, with a full month of playoffs right around the corner? Yeah, like I’m gonna put down my roast-beef hoagie and Heineken so I can go outside and pedal a bike around the neighborhood like I’m a goddamn 8-year-old. Or go for a hike so I can “clear my head” and “find my center.” Right. Tell you what I will do, though: I’ll open my windows and let Mother Nature come to me—well, when I’m not watching the games at the bar, that is. And before you get all high and mighty on me, just know this: Me in bicycle shorts—not a pretty picture.