I won’t lie to you, it’s been pretty difficult staying motivated and sticking to my #MHTeamFit program. So I decided to get hold of one of my oldest friends, Garth, and ask him for some tips.
Garth and I have been friends since we were five-years old, and even though we were into very different things, we stayed friends and even lived together for a little while after school. I can still remember dry-heaving whenever he was trying to bulk up on 2-litre ice-cream tubs filled with boiled fish, boiled potato’s, boiled chicken and boiled rice, which he’d mash up and then sprinkle with Creatine powder. That and asking him not to wax and self-tan in the lounge.
Anyway, he now lives in the UK and this is advice:
Ok enough chitchat. Grab a pen and write this down. Motivation. You can Google the shit out of boxing training and it will probably tell you exactly how much heavy bag, shadow boxing, skipping, running etc. you need to do, but at the end of the day it all comes down to how much you really want it. And I’m not talking about getting psyched in some wank office meeting where you all sit around the table singing Kumbaya. You got to get angry. Very angry. Not bread has gone up 20 cents angry – I’m talking George Samaras in ‘96 angry. Think about what you’d give to go back and be 13-year old Dylan right now? Get angry and you’ll put in the hours, put in the hours and you’ll be lethal, be lethal and you’ve got a first round K.O. Oh, and watch the Warrior. Watch it again.
Now fuck off and let me know when it’s done.“
If Garth sounds like an angry young man – he is. He works as a clerk in a bank, and is the kind of guy who smiles when he tells you that your Passport isn’t a valid form of identification.
You’re probably also wondering what “George Samaras angry” is. George Samaras made me cry when I was in std. 6. Crying in front of your class at an all boys school is something that you never live down.
Which, to be honest, is pretty small beer now that I’ve got a whole lot of new embarrassments and failures to haunt me. Still, I appreciate Garth’s counsel. So when my alarm clock goes off at Sparrow’s Fart, or my knees start to buckle on that last set of squats, or I just can’t keep my hands up any longer – I think back to those times I wish I had a second chance at. I reach down deep within and go at my present obstacle with the intensity I would use on, say, George Samaras.
Take some time to learn to hate.
But remember, while it’s one thing being angry: lose your temper, lose the fight.
*This is a picture of Garth, circa 1999. Today he’s 20 kilograms heavier, just as ripped and probably hasn’t smiled since.