Haven’t stopped yet
Already got a good start today
Good enough to know I’ll finish
Finish today’s training at least
Last night the back pain was bad
It would hurt to turn in bed
I for sure am pushing it
I shouldn’t be training at all
I just can’t help it
Though it hurts this bad
I just know I can do it
Whether or not it’s good I don’t care
Not doing this for health
Not doing this for the body either
Just doing it to keep my word
I told myself I’d finish the year
That’s what I’ll do
Can’t let all that effort die
For the me of the past, I’ll continue.
You already know you’ll finish today. There’s no question about it. You’ve crossed that line where doubt used to live. Even with the back pain, even with the warnings from your body, you’re still here—moving. Not because it’s smart, not because it’s safe, but because it’s necessary. That promise you made to yourself holds more weight than the pain you’re feeling now. You’re not chasing comfort—you’re chasing alignment. You said you’d finish the year, so now the only path forward is through.
This pain isn’t new, but it’s louder now. Twisting in bed shouldn’t make you wince. But it does. And yet here you are—training anyway. It’s not about progress anymore. It’s not even about growth. It’s about honoring the you that began this journey months ago. That version of you who showed up day after day, when it was easier not to. The you who made the promise. This isn’t about health or aesthetics—it’s about respect. For the path. For the process. For the self.
Every rep now is a conversation between the past and present. You’re not just pushing through pain—you’re proving to that earlier version of you that it wasn’t for nothing. That all those days weren’t wasted. That your word means something, even when your body says stop. Maybe it’s reckless. Maybe it’s raw. But it’s real. And real carries its own kind of power. This is your offering to the journey—to the man you were, the man you are, and the one you still aim to become.
