"Tough love" doesn't feel very loving, Void.

I suppose that's why the adjective is "tough." And a master of tough love--and, really, Christian loving in general--is indubitably my older brother.

Like any good brother who works at a gym, he pointed out to me that I am woefully out of shape. "I am not!" I protested. "I'm skinny! I...move around a lot!" But lifting household groceries does not really mean that I am in shape, and he pointed that out to me. "I don't intend to lift anything heavier," I said. That did not fly.
Having guilted me into realizing that I am a lazy, obese schlub on the inside, however model-esque my exterior may be, he moved to step 2 of tough love: addressing the problem. I now have a gym membership. I haven't used it yet; I only just got it. But come Monday, I expect I shall be melting into a little puddle of sweat and whine at his feet, while he bellows at me, in his finest imitation of a drill sergeant, "ON YOUR FEET AND LIFT THOSE WEIGHTS, YOU WHINGING* LITTLE BRAT!" *whinging: British: to complain fretfully, to whine. Courtesy of Merriam-Webster.com

Well, that's still to come. But he gave me a foretaste today, by telling me that most people cannot hold the "plank position", the "up" point of pushups, for two minutes. I gave it a shot. The first time, I lasted for about fifty-four seconds before plopping into a sore, sorry bundle. The second time, I managed to hold for an entire minute. After I had done that, he cheerfully informed me that I had better not do any more, because I'll be sore tomorrow!
What? Holding still for two minutes (less six seconds) and I'll be sore? What sort of fiendish trick is this?! Tough love, he tells me cheerfully. And then, to drive home how out of shape I am, he then proceeded to hold the plank position for three minutes and one second.

Well. The showoff. But I'll show him! Monday, I shall go to the gym and work out! Ha! That'll show him, all right!

...right up until I collapse whimpering.