We begin with the happy ending: I went sledding the other day. And then another day. And it was fun. So there. Now you know.

Why am I telling you this?

Because it was during last week's snowstorm that I discovered something.

I'm a big fraud.

Know why? Because it's one thing to be snotty in this column a few days a week. Dispense free advice, regardless of whether anyone asks. Talk about sports and all their metaphorical and sociological impacts.

And then be totally afraid to live it.

Mostly because I'm soft. Or was. Working on it. My great friend Jim O'Neill once said to me, "Mikey, roughing it for you is when there's no mint on the pillow at the Marriott."

It had been suggested to me a few weeks earlier that sledding was fun. This was reinforced when I saw some kids at Waterford High (there's a huge hill adjacent to the parking lot) having a blast sledding down it recently. But then That Little Voice, the one I'd like to beat with a tire iron, started:

You don't like being cold or wet. You don't like heights. Act your age. Blah, blah, blah.

That Little Voice was winning. As usual. And so it was while I was reading a book one day during last week's snow that I came upon a line about our egos:

Jen Sincero writes: "Our egos are the part of us that sabotage our happiness because deep down we don't feel worthy of being loved. Or that refuses us to follow our hearts because we're terrified to be seen for who we really are or to get hurt. And that we're insecure and need lots of outside validation that we're good enough."

Boom.

A complete kick in the ascot.

She's right.

Suddenly, I wanted to confront That Little Voice. But how? And then the universe stepped in. I was downstairs in my relatively new abode and saw an old sled left by the previous occupants. Yes. This is the answer.

So I went. And it was fun. Finally, I wasn't the guy standing inside the house watching everyone else have fun. I wasn't on the street corner watching the parade pass. I was sledding. Even better, I avoided cars, trees, buildings and other immovable objects zipping down the hill. It didn't cost a dime. I didn't have to wait in line.

I was happy. This time not because of the outcome of a sporting event, or that I wrote a good sentence, or that I got a text or a call or a FaceTime from a friend. I was happy because, if even for a moment, That Little Voice got the spit kicked out of it.

Again: Why am I saying this? Because I find sports to be a great vehicle to release the hounds. The inner demons. It's why I believe they are not "extracurricular" in middle school and high school. They are curricular. And while you may quibble that sledding is a sport, I'd say this: If they can bobsled down ice, ski down a mountain or ski jump into the air, why can't we slide down a mountain, too, in the next Olympics?

It gets me thinking in that Dr. Phil sort of way: Couldn't we all benefit from "sledding?" Not the act, necessarily. But the willingness to sit down and confront That Little Voice. Somehow. Vent to a friend? Therapist? Whatever. This much we know: It really does sabotage. And maybe we don't even know it. That Little Voice is the difference between what we want to create and what we're actually creating. Answers reveal themselves through doing, not thinking. Or overthinking.

I know what you're thinking. He's gone nuts. Bonzo. Nah. Just more awake now. Imagine: It took sledding to silence That Little Voice, even if momentarily. Oh, don't worry. It comes back regularly. It's like the unwanted house guest. But maybe this was Step One toward productive change.

What's next? Speedskating? Log rolling? Trying to dunk better than Dev Ostrowski did the other night for East Lyme High? Hey, not ruling anything out anymore.

And all this came from "sledding."

You should try it.

The real thing.

And metaphorically, too.

This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro