Face up and locked up, muscles seizing like a mother, human gears splitting in clawing heat. I know that guy. We broke bread last night, thanks to Above, and today, we all need to stay on our feet, ass in the mud or not, so get up.
Mandatory demands are mandatory. No excuses.
Teeth and gravel, a mouthful of blood, tongue split, spit, and chew.
We all know the deal, so let’s go; we grow beautiful in discomfort—a rose from a stone.
That is why I am here.
Why we are here.
Squander, not.
Cheat, not.
Quit, not.
That rasping bullhorn in our voracious ears is salve and passion—nutrition. Walk to it, digest it, use that fuel —one stride, hike, another step, run, and we are brothers in a humble and predictable chore, patience our steward, reward. Glory chases no man who does not chase glory, and we would do this for free as one mile becomes another. And another becomes another. And another becomes another. And another becomes another. And another becomes another. And another becomes another. And another becomes another. And another becomes another. And another becomes another. And another becomes another. Another, another, another, and another.
Until we are done.
But not finished.