The trouble with jogging is that the ice falls out of your

Martin Mull, a man whose wit has often cloaked truth in laughter, once proclaimed: “The trouble with jogging is that the ice falls out of your glass.” At first hearing, the words strike as jest—a playful jab at exercise and the culture of fitness. Yet beneath the humor lies a deeper reflection on human nature, one that reveals the tension between effort and ease, between discipline and indulgence, between the body’s toil and the spirit’s desire for comfort.

The heart of Mull’s statement lies in irony. Jogging, a symbol of health, sacrifice, and endurance, is here contrasted with the image of leisure: holding a glass filled with ice and drink. By bringing these opposites together, Mull paints a portrait of the eternal human struggle—the yearning to better oneself and the temptation to remain in ease. The falling ice becomes a metaphor: when we try to hold onto comfort while pursuing discipline, one must give way to the other.

History offers us similar stories of this tension. In the courts of ancient Rome, many nobles spoke of the virtues of stoic discipline, of rising early and exercising the body. Yet in the same halls, feasts overflowed with wine, meat, and indulgence. The struggle between restraint and pleasure was not new; it has lived in every age. Mull’s humorous quote echoes that same battle, reminding us that human beings often seek shortcuts to strength, or wish to hold their pleasures while avoiding the rigors of sacrifice.

But there is also another lesson hidden in his laughter: the importance of perspective. Mull’s words mock the idea of taking ourselves too seriously. For all our striving, all our attempts to sculpt the body or chase after health, life must still hold room for joy, laughter, and even foolishness. To hold a glass in one’s hand while jogging may be impractical, yet the image brings a smile because it suggests that even in discipline, one must not lose the ability to laugh at oneself.

Think of the story of Diogenes the Cynic, who mocked the conventions of his day by living in a barrel, carrying a lamp in daylight, and satirizing the pretenses of others. His humor carried truths that philosophy alone could not reveal. Mull’s words follow the same path: laughter as wisdom, jest as mirror, humor as a way of exposing the contradictions of life without bitterness.

The lesson, then, is not merely about jogging or glasses of ice—it is about balance. One must pursue health, discipline, and effort, but never so rigidly that joy is lost. Likewise, one may enjoy comfort and ease, but never so much that discipline disappears. To hold both in the right measure is the art of living well. The trouble, as Mull slyly reminds us, is that we often try to do both at once, and in doing so, lose the balance entirely.

So I say to you: remember Martin Mull’s words, spoken in jest but rooted in truth. Laugh at the foolishness of your own contradictions, but do not let them rule you. If you jog, jog with freedom; if you drink, drink with joy; but know when to set one aside for the sake of the other. For the true wisdom of life is not to have the ice and the run at the same time, but to embrace each season with its own fullness—discipline when needed, pleasure when fitting, and laughter always to carry you through.