The mat will remember you, thousands of drops of sweat counting your sacrifices.
The barbell will remember your skin, your rough hands, and your blood.
The bag will be forever imprinted with the ferocity of your punch.
Your memory will live on the tools you’re using to become a warrior. And those tools are plenty.
A warrior’s legacy has some tangible, material spirit. A sort of flesh and blood.
But flesh and blood dies, withers, and fades. The mat will be replaced with another. Another’s hands will know the barbell even better than yours. The punching bag will retire by so many blows.
The imprints of your battles will fade with time.
So, you’d better show the fuck up.
Now and much later, when those mats and bars and bags are replaced.
Their scars devalue them. They get decommissioned for wear. They fray and crack and weaken.
You’ve got some scars, too. Your scars, the calluses and raw knuckles, are nothing like the imprints you leave on the mat, barbell, and bag. They increase your value, become stronger with wear, and weave a heroic story of effort.
Your calluses and raw knuckles—your thick legs, strong back, and endurance—are physical manifestations of the internal changes gifted to those who show the fuck up.
They represent—for you and others watching—the patience you’ve deployed in setting goals, the willpower you’ve summoned during the hardest training days, and the courage you’ve developed in asking yourself WHAT IF and WHY NOT ME and HOW FUCKING FAR?
The mat, barbell, and bag aren’t really the imprints you’re after. They get replaced; their memories die.
But there’s a memory that doesn’t need to die.
This memory is the internal, deep, unarticulated, savage complex of the warrior. It’s patience, willpower, courage, decisiveness, gratitude, and ferocity. It’s the character of your pursuit, the spirit of that person who does not quit. It’s the memory of every drop of sweat, every PR in the gym, and every punch you’ve ever thrown.
Let them replace the mat, the barbell, the bag. Let those forget you.
Embrace what cannot be forgotten when you show the fuck up: that warrior complex.
Embrace your scars, those physical manifestations of your internal change: the calluses, raw knuckles, thick legs, strong back, and endurance.
Those won’t fray, crack, or weaken. Because you’re here. You’re breathing. You’re face-to-face with your opponent, you’re under the bar, or you just landed another punch. You’re not home, hiding from the grind.
You’ve rejected complacency.
You won’t neglect those scars.
You show the fuck up.
If you stay home, get soft, and sink into happy contentment, your calluses will soften, your knuckles will heal, your legs and back will weaken, and your endurance will fade. And with that neglect of your physical scars, you’ll forget the warrior’s complex.
You will lose patience and forget willpower. Your courage will hide, you will become indecisive and ungracious. Your ferocity—and character—will soften.
So today, tomorrow, and every fucking day after, let your perseverance, your unwavering commitment to the grind, and your obsession with victory land on the mat, the barbell, and the bag. Let those things dwell on your hands and knuckles, let them flow through your legs and back, your arms and chest. Let them surge and multiply inside you, fueling your unbreakable mentality.
All you have to do is show the fuck up.
Sweat, bleed, work, repeat.
Today and every day after.
It’s worth it.
Those scars and that memory are more precious than gold.
Never Fucking Quit.
"All you have to do is show the fuck up. Sweat, bleed, work, repeat. Today and every day after."