By Saint Dirty Face™

New Year.

Same broken brain.

Different dumbbells.

Every January, the gyms fill with hope, fear, and people who swear this time they won’t quit by Valentine’s Day. And you know what? Good. Let them try. Let them crawl. Let them sweat like sinners in church.

Because this year?

You’re not “getting in shape.”

You’re training like you’re mad at the past and in love with the future.

You’re not here to look cute in a mirror.

You’re here to silence the voices that say:

“You’re too old.” “You missed your shot.” “Just coast.”

Nah.

We don’t coast.

We grind.

You don’t go to the gym to be perfect.

You go to outlive your doubts.

Every rep is a middle finger to regret.

Every mile is you running away from the old you who quit too early.

Every drop of sweat is your body crying because your soul finally woke up.

Because consistency is louder than motivation, and discipline doesn’t give a damn how you feel.

Some days you’ll feel like a beast.

Some days you’ll feel like a broken toaster in gym shorts.

Show up anyway.

You don’t need a six-pack.

You need fire in your chest.

You need lungs that remember how good it feels to fight.

You need legs that carry you toward something instead of away from everything.

So yeah — go work out like a nut.

Lift heavy.

Run angry.

Breathe like you mean it.

And when your brain says, “This hurts,”

tell it:

“Good. That means I’m still alive.”

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Saint Dirty Face™

[Stay Dirty, Stay Unbroken™]

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