We all see the strength of an elite athlete as something to behold, something to be inspired by. Driven by the power of something strong enough to free him from the shackles of monotony he strives valiantly towards a goal that nearly all fail to achieve, and yet he continues. And we romanticize it. Billions are spent every year on our deep rooted fascination with elite athletic competition. We wear their jerseys, support their teams, and find a sort of validation when they win, a feeling that we have all succeed together. This of course is bullshit, and also where our story begins.

Growing up I loved the Rocky movies. Actually I was a little obsessed. My dad got me the 25th anniversary addition of all five movies on VHS and I treasured them. I put them on fine display along side my Lego Star Wars Pod Racers inside the glass section of our entertainment unit for all to see. And whether I was bored or frustrated or inspired or looking for some inspiration, I would always reach for one of those movies.

Anyone who grew up with the Rocky saga and knows them well enough is free to chastise my childhood self for what I’m about to say next. My favourites were Rocky 4 and 5. You know the ones right? Where Sly all but single handedly ends the Cold War? Or when a fake Don King steals away Rockys protege, all to a soundtrack of truly awful early 90’s hip hop and culminating in some of the most cringe worthy acting you’ll ever see in this life or the next? Ya, those two were MY JAM! And I’m grateful for it, honestly. Even though I can say with confidence I will NEVER watch Rocky 5 again, I’m grateful to have had it appeal to my childhood sensibilities when it did. It got me PUMPED UP. I would use the training montages as fodder to fuel my workouts. I would hear the music and escape into a dreamlike state, picturing myself training to vanquish my foes with my fists. I would shadow box in front of our living room mirror, fighting the reflection, slipping his punches and returning with a flurry. It spoke to me. It awoke something in me. Something ancient. Something that I carry with me to this day.

But sometimes I forget about my 8 year old self throwing punches at the mirror wanting to be like Rock. Inspiration is one thing but I lose my sense of direction just like everyone else. The endless pressures of the world around me paints me into corners I can’t punch my way out of and I fall, over, and over, and over. But something eternal remains through all the hardship. Something in the deepest reaches of my mind, inaccessible to anyone else. A little voice in the back of my head that rises above all the bullshit and says “SHOW UP”.

You see, too often in this life we get caught in the weeds. Longing for something better, thinking about the things we don’t have or worshiping an athlete at the top of his game. We want the goal. We see the result of a lifetime of dedication and crave a piece of the limelight for ourselves. But the truth is that if you’re thinking that way you don’t know shit about what it takes to actually get there.

If I had to sum it up in one sentence it would be this: “It ain’t about how hard you hit, IT’S ABOUT HOW HARD YOU CAN GET HIT AND KEEP MOVING FORWARD.”

While you’re dreaming of being like Mike, he’s sinking free throws after his teammates have gone home. You WISH so badly that you could snatch 100kg but you’re unwilling to go through the tedious process of refining your technique. And before you’ve even gone through your Instagram feed in the morning your heroes are finishing a punishing workout. Because here’s the truth about athletics that you can apply to just about anything; few people actually play, most people just watch. 

There’s nothing heroic about sitting on the sidelines watching team X play team Y drinking beer and criticizing the players who are actually on the field. It’s exciting sure, just like an old movie montage can liven your spirts, I get it. On the other hand, in defence of those brave enough to put it on the line I’d like to offer up a quote from a wise POTUS played by Martin Sheen on The West Wing, “don’t confuse it with something that men do”.

What those movies taught me as a kid is that you need to fight for what you want and that the future is contingent on the effort you put forth here and now. Ya it’s corny but to this day if “Eye of The Tiger” comes on in the gym it lights a fire under my ass. I use it to buoy my spirits for the time being, and then it’s gone. And what’s left behind is the grind. There’s nothing romantic about the it. It’s solitary and personal and fucking hard. But whatever your inspiration is, use it to get your ass out of bed and under the barbell. There is no magic sauce. If you want it, whatever “it” is, show up.