I Am So F*cking Proud Of You.

“But, why? I’ve Failed.” you say.

Yes. Exactly because you’ve failed.

Look, champions don’t impress me when they win; that’s just what they do.

Runners run, lifters lift, and winners win.

Humankind has an uncanny ability to understand stories, sometimes to our detriment. Especially the stories about who we tell ourselves we are.

After all, we only achieve what we permit ourselves to achieve. We only become who we tell ourselves we can become.

Crowd favorites know the crowd favors them. That’s the story they believe.

But when a former loser rises up, forcing you to redirect your attention from the crowd favorites…

THAT is something uncommon.

There’s only one contender who’s cheered on more than the champ, the underdog. The underdog is someone who woke up, whether that morning or in the middle of something gravely important, chose to plant a flag and claim,

“I will no longer be a loser. This story no longer serves me; I’m changing now.”

That gets me f*cking fired up.

We get excited about the top picks, But the hair on our necks rises for the underdog. Our arms become covered in goosebumps.

‘Why is that?” I’ve thought.

We might cheer for the man in the lead but become overwhelmed entirely when a nobody breaks free from the pack and starts chasing down the leader like there is no tomorrow, like every inch he gains is oxygen.

Why can we feel their struggle? Why can we feel their story?

It’s because they’re us.

We know what it is to not be on top. To not be the most praised in the room, to be overlooked, to be picked last, to work hard without support.

They’re us, and they’re going for it.

And we’re going with them from a thousand miles away, or on radio, or on a screen. A whole world can be moved by one person.

That is the power of the underdog story.

And we’re all underdogs of some sort.

Every little girl who was made to feel weak by her family, and decides to get under a barbell.
Every recovering alcoholic who’s only here for their kid.
Every mother who decided their family was worth sticking around for.
Every nurse who blew my mind when they took their first unassisted lunges without me.
Every FIRST pull up.
Every FIRST muscle-up.
Every FIRST squat without tremendous pain after years of doubt and almost giving up.

These are underdogs. And they’ll receive the bone-chilling roars from me soon.

I’m saying, ” I see you, I am you, and I f*cking believe in you.”

Cheers to the underdog.

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