Of course.

Not only is there the vigorous activity associated with sanding, there's also the repetitive and constant reaching and stretching required to get to the bowl of potato chips and Coors on the other side of the bench.

And that's not even taking into consideration the panic driven flurry of desperate activity whereby you hear your wife's car pull up in the driveway and have no more than 45 seconds to hide all the R/C stuff that came by UPS earlier in the day... and try not to break a sweat that she'll notice.

I'm tired just thinking about it.

Highflight