I was sitting in my office last Sunday, reviewing a chapter of the book I’m writing. The closing line mentioned something about building relationships one hour at a time. And for whatever reason, that phrase got stuck in my head.
One hour at a time.
It reminded me of a stat I’d come across a while back: for every hour you run, you gain roughly seven hours of additional lifespan. It’s one of those numbers that sticks because the return on investment feels almost too good to be true. One hour in, seven hours back. Hard to argue with that.
But sitting there, I started wondering. If one hour of running buys you seven hours of life, what does one hour of friendship buy you?
That question sent me down a rabbit hole.
In 2018, researchers from the Copenhagen City Heart Study published their findings after tracking over 8,500 people for up to 25 years. They compared different leisure-time sports against a national death registry to see who lived longest.
Every form of exercise added years compared to being sedentary. No surprise. But the range was staggering:
- Tennis +9.7 years
- Badminton +6.2 years
- Soccer +4.7 years
- Cycling +3.7 years
- Swimming +3.4 years
- Jogging +3.2 years
And the people who spent their time on gym equipment, who logged more total hours of exercise than any other group?
- Gym-Based Activities +1.5 years
The people who exercised the most gained the least.
The difference wasn’t intensity or duration. It was other people. Tennis needs a partner. Soccer needs a team. On the treadmill it’s just you.
A pattern worth noticing:
I look at my own calendar and it’s obvious. Meetings are scheduled. Workouts are planned. Date nights are blocked off. But time with friends? That just sort of... happens. Or it doesn’t.
And somehow the thing that might matter most is the only thing I haven’t been protecting.
Here’s what makes this tricky for me, though. I’m an introvert. My natural pull after any social situation is to recharge alone. Solitude isn’t just comfortable for me, it feels necessary. So there’s this tension I carry: knowing that connection is one of the most important things I can invest in, while simultaneously being wired to avoid it.
But I’ve noticed something as I’ve been writing this book. Every time I choose connection over comfort, I’m glad I did. Not always in the moment. Sometimes in the moment it’s draining. But afterwards, something feels different. Fuller, maybe.
I’ve started making small swaps. I’ll trade a solo cardio session for pickleball when the chance comes up. My wife joins me for strength training sometimes, and honestly those sessions are just better. More enjoyable, more human. I keep thinking I should invite a friend along too. I haven’t done that yet. But I’m going to.
Something to ask yourself:
How often are you taking the easy route? Not the lazy route, the comfortable one. The solo workout instead of the one that requires coordinating with someone. The quiet evening in rather than getting off the couch. The path of least resistance that also happens to be the path of least connection.
I ask myself this more than I’d like to admit. And I don’t always love the answer.
Something to try this week:
Look at your week and find one thing you normally do alone that you could do with someone. A workout. A walk. A meal you’d otherwise eat at your desk. You don’t have to overhaul your routine. Just swap one solo hour for a social one and notice what happens.
Not because a study told you to. Because the version of your week that includes someone else in it might be the one you actually remember.
I’m writing a book about the friendship stuff nobody taught us. If you want to follow along as I figure this out, subscribe and I’ll share what I’m learning each week.
