I was still at birth. No breathing. No heartbeat. No life inside of me.
Yet, I fought and I won. Bruised and beaten, but alive and I fought to make it home.
I was so bruised that my Dad nicknamed me “Rocky,” because he said I looked like I just stepped out of the ring.
And every time life beat me up, he would say “Give ’em hell, Rocky!”
Lately (the last few years), I feel like I’ve been in the ring once again. I’m tired. I’m bruised. I’ve wanted to give up.
I have been near a TKO and I’ve also thrown my share of punches.
Today, I (we) got hit again – and I can barely see my eyes are so swollen shut from the blows. It’s time to see the cut man.
I’m not giving up. I didn’t the day I was born and I won’t until the day I die.
It’s Round 15. The bell is about to ring and I’m about to “give ’em hell.”
You can’t win at anything you aren’t willing to fight your ass off for.
This is life. Real, raw life. It can’t all be about the pretty plan. You have to be willing to dodge, dance, throw punches and roll with them as well.
The highlights are just for the morning sports coverage. I’m in this for the long haul. And that’s what separates the winners from the “also-rans.”