One upon a time, in a land far, far away, I had a gym membership. At the beginning of my membership, I had three sessions with a personal trainer – she was brutal, but fortunately not so much that I would lose my faith in exercise (she was, however, brutal enough that I would lose feeling in my entire body).

Somewhere in the midst of my on again, off again relationship with “gym”, I agreed to go to a shadowboxing class of sorts with my friend. Considering how well I did on my Wii Fit game, I was sure this was going to be easy breezy. Wrong.

We ran across the room, squatted, and did an assortment of activities my body rejects. Halfway through the class (at least I hope I got that far) I couldn’t handle it anymore and I jetted out of the workout room and headed straight towards the women’s locker room… as fast as my lifeless legs would allow, anyway.

Yes, I admit I hid in shame as my friend successfully finished her workout. Of course, it wasn’t without consequence as I was surrounded by some ladies with dewy skin and no shame. I’ll leave it at that.

The second worse part about waiting in that locker room is that I knew I’d have to explain to my friend about why I bolted. I knew she wouldn’t care and wouldn’t judge me for leaving, but I felt like I needed to provide some valid excuse for my actions even if it meant making a false claim that all those years of smoking finally caught up with me (God as my witness, these lips have never touched a cigarette). Fortunately, it never came to that and, as it turns out, the only person I ended up making excuses to was myself.

Unfortunately, this has been a pattern in my life. There are some things I’m able to persevere through that are extremely difficult; my masters degree alone is proof of my ability to push through difficult tasks. But sometimes I tend to throw in the towel if what I’m trying to accomplish takes just that extra amount of effort that I don’t want to give.

The silver lining of this horrible “quirk” of mine is that when it comes to the things in life that require serious effort (i.e., relationships, jobs, etc.), I can run the race just fine. But when it comes to stuff like consistent workouts or other things that would benefit me physically or personally, I just kind of lose it. For whatever reason, I just can’t seem to keep my head in the game.

If that’s not bad enough, I discovered something even worse this week: I’ve sorta lost my will to fight. It’s one thing to lose it in the middle of the game – at least you tried. But to not try and to not want to try, that’s even worse.

As I write this blog, I can’t say that I got the fight back in me. I do, however, have the awareness that I lost it and now I want it back. I know I’m a fighter. I know I have the kind of tenacity to knock down whatever challenge comes my way – I just haven’t been brave enough to step back in the ring. But now that I’m aware of the lethargy I was living in, I’m finally thirsty for the fight and I’m ready to tape up my fists.

It’s sometimes hard to even reach that point especially when life throws all kinds of crud your way. I mean, I still can’t even grasp what kind of emotional rubble the Midwest is trudging through as they’ve seen lives lost and communities wiped out by these tornadoes. I don’t know about you, but if I were there I would just feel like curling into a ball and letting all the tragedy wash over me.

But I’m sure what any survivor of any tragedy knows is that the only way to survive in the aftermath is to just pick yourself up and keep going so you can move forward. You gotta fight to do it, but it’s a fight worth fighting and a fight that CAN be won.

So whatever life throws at you (even if it’s apathy you’re battling), get up and fight. You owe it to yourself and to the world you live in to do everything you can to be the best version of yourself and then help others do the same.

And on that note, it’s time to put on my hoodie and fedora and get to hitting some beef. Figuratively speaking. I think.