Every morning I wake up, I take my pre-workout supplements, put on 3 layers of clothing, a workout beanie, put in my earbuds, and hobble over to the Garage Dojo in the pitch black dark. It's fucking freezing.
The workshop that has all my equipment is old and broken and cold. Rain leaks into the shop. Everything on my body hurts because I'm Filipino and wasn't built - genetically - for this cold weather crap.
I have an Apple Music playlist called "Mr. D's Boxing Playlist" and I start off with some Pac, Tool, DMX, or whatever is on my mind, and start off with 3, 2 minute rounds of skipping rope. Then I push.
It royally sucks and it's always cold. It takes everything in me to take that walk to the Garage Dojo because not working out would be so much better. I would much rather scroll on my phone next to a heater with my cup of coffee.
Then I recall all the martial artists that want to whoop my ass and crush me and take away my morale. I think about the man across the ring on May 22 who can physically kill me, and will do everything he can to ruin me. He is completely capable of utterly destroying me, and I am terrified of that.
So then I keep training. All those times I don't want to train, I force myself because the world is filled with people who won't do what I force myself to do. I also know there are men who are outworking me, so I must come to that level.