MS Fighter

You don’t really know what kind of man you are until the gloves go on and the bell rings. Not when you’re hyped. Not when you’re feeling strong. But when you’re gassed out, cornered, and still getting hit. Before I ever touched a barbell, I stepped into a boxing gym. No AC. No fancy gear. Just sweat on the floor and the sound of leather cracking against pads. Boxing didn’t coddle me. It stripped me down. Taught me how to move under pressure. Taught me how to hit hard, stay calm, and never backpedal—even when your brain is begging for rest. And when MS entered the ring years later? I didn’t panic. I didn’t spiral. Because I’d already fought something that hit back—and I learned how to adapt. See, the ring isn’t about violence. It’s about control. Discipline. Precision. It’s about knowing that pain’s coming—and stepping anyway. That’s the same mindset I use now.

• When fatigue punches me in the gut out ow nowhere.
• When balance gets shaky.
• When training turns into war with my own nervous system.

MS is an unpredictable opponent. But so was every fighter I ever faced (as an amateur, doing it for fun, although taken it seriously). Boxing taught me to breathe through chaos, keep my stance, and never fight sloppy. It made me dangerous—not because U was reckless…but because I knew when to hold, when to strike, and when to walk through the storm like I own it. And I still carry that fire. MS didn’t put it out. It just gave it new direction. I don’t train to look good. I train to survive, to evolve, to stay in the fight—because this body may slow down, but this mindset? It’s a fucking weapon. The bell rang a long time ago. And I never left the ring.

The Ring Doesn’t Just Build Grit. It Builds Awareness.

Everyone loves to romanticize grit…No pain, no gain…push harder…grind until you break. Yeah, that’s cute…until you’re actually in a fight—with an opponent or with your own body. Boxing taught me early on that grit without awareness is just self-destruction in disguise. The ring doesn’t reward the toughest guy. It rewards the smartest. The guy who can read his opponent—and himself—with brutal honesty. It trained me to:

• Feel shifts in momentum.
• Recognize openings in real time.
• Sense when I’m getting reckless and need to reel it in.
• Control my breathing, control my stance, and control the damn storm inside me.

And then MS came swinging. MS forces that same level of awareness—but now, the opponent lives under your skin. It’s not a dude across from you trying to land a right hook. It’s your own nervous system misfiring mid-rep, mid-step, mid-breath. You start to track the micro-details like a pro:

• Which side fatigues first?
• How long does it take before the tremor starts?
• Is this just soreness or is my nervous system fried?

That awareness becomes armor. It’s how you keep training without crashing. It’s how you keep showing up without letting ego get you hurt. See, grit says Push harder. Awareness says Push smart or you won’t push at all tomorrow. That’s why I don’t life like a gym bro. I train like a boxer. I move with purpose. I rest with intention. Every set, every rep, every round has a reason—or it doesn’t happen. This isn’t weakness. This is strategy. If you train with MS like you’re in a Rocky montage 24/7, you’ll burn out by Wednesday. But if you train like a fighter—calculated, focused, ruthless with your energy—you’ll last longer than anyone expects. Because the real ones? They don’t just throw punches. They see the whole damn fight before it happens.

Control, Not Rage. The Real Power Behind the Punch.

Let me tell you something most guys don’t learn until it’s too late…rage is loud, power is quiet. When I first started boxing, I thought I had to go berserk. Throw bombs. Smash the bag. Get hyped, get mean, and drown in adrenaline. And then I stepped into the ring with a calm friend of my who barely made a sound—and he picked me apart. That’s when it clicked…rage burns hot, but it burns out fast. Control? That’s fire with a fuse. MS taught me the same lesson, only with higher stakes. Because when you live with a chronic illness, every ounce of energy matters. You can’t afford wasted movement. Wasted workouts. Wasted emotion. That’s what separates survivors from the broken—precision, not panic. Look, I get angry. Some mornings my legs feel like dead weight. Sometimes I train with the hum of nerve pain in the background, or with the fatigue of three sleepless nights. And yeah, that fire rises. But I don’t let it drive the wheel. Why? Because I’ve learned the most alpha thing you can do is channel that fire—not explode with it. That’s what boxing taught me:

• Breathe under pressure.
• Keep your stance, even when your instincts scream retreat.
• Wait for your shot, then land it with purpose.

It’s the same way I train now:

• I don’t max out unless I’ve earned it.
• I don’t ignore the signals my body gives me just to satisfy my ego.
• I don’t chase failure. I chase mastery.

This isn’t going soft. This is refined violence. Calculated. Tactical. Efficient. And that same mindset flows into how I live:

• I handle stress with intention.
• I communicate with clarity, not emotional outbursts.
• I plan my energy like a fighter manages rounds because I know every bad decision comes with a cost.

MS doesn’t care how jacked you are. It’ll humble you faster than a punch you never saw coming. But if you’ve got control? If you can own your emotions, own your training, own your life—MS can’t touch that. So yeah, rage feels good for a minute. But control wins the war. And I’m not here to feel good. I’m here to win (with occasional rage moments, I won’t pretend they don’t happen).

Training Now. The Refined Fighter’s Routine.

There’s a difference between working out…and training. Working out is what people do to sweat and feel good about themselves. Training? That’s a war prep. That’s purpose-driven punishment. That’s building yourself for the life you’re choosing to fight for. And I’m still fighting—with MS in my corner, whether I like it or not. So no, I don’t train like a typical guy in his 30s trying to stay in shape. I train like someone who’s been humbled, rebuilt, and forged into something leaner, harder, smarter. I train like a fighter, because I am one.

Before I ever touched a barbell, I learned to throw hands. Boxing taught me to move, to breathe, to feel my body like a weapon. And that hasn’t changed—even with MS trying to chip away at my motor control and balance. My boxing today isn’t about knockouts. It’s about precision. Awareness. Recovery under pressure.

• Shadowboxing sharpens my coordination when my nervous system is on edge.
• Heavy bag drills push my conditioning and help burn off the static of fatigue and stress.
• Footwork patterns and head movement remind my legs that they still answer to me.

Even on bad days, I’ll move. Maybe slower, maybe less, but I move. Because once you stop moving, you start losing.

Regarding lifting, I don’t fluff. I don’t chase trends. I chase results—and I’ve got nothing to prove to anyone but myself. My strength program is minimal but savage:

• Deadlifts for war power, full body activation. I don’t go heavy every week, but I never lose the hinge pattern.
• Pull-ups and rows. In case my grips is compromised from nerve issues, I sub in banded rows or rings.
• Overhead presses using controlled force. I avoid ego pressing. It’s about mechanics, not numbers.
• Loaded carries builds integrity from feet to fists. Every step is a test of posture and coordination.
• Sled work with no eccentric loading, i.e., low fatigue, high output. Perfect for when I’m low on CNS juice but still want to sweat.

I train 5 days per week, only time(s) I miss the workout(s) is when something serious is going on with me or with my family. If I’m dragging, I pull intensity back. I’m not afraid of lighter weights or more rest. Because here’s the secret most won’t admit…smart beats hard. Especially with MS.

Last but not least, recovery is non-negotiable. Forget the grind culture bullshit. Recovery isn’t weakness—it’s a weapon.

• Cold therapy? Yes please! It resets my nervous system and clears my head.
• Mobility drills and stretching? Daily. My joints don’t lie.
• Sleep? Priority #1. No REM=no progress (however, I still lack on my sleep schedule…)
• Nutrition and hydration? Dialed in. Not perfect, but consistent.

I recover like a pro because MS doesn’t hand out second chances. If I skip this part, I pay for it…hard.

This is the routine. This is the path. Not flashy. Not sexy. Not for the Instagram. Just war-tested, real-world training to keep me in the fight. Because if I let this disease outwork me, I lose. And that’s not happening.

Fight-Ready, Not Gym-Pretty. Why I Train Like Every Rep Matters.

You ever walk into a gym and feel like half the people are training for Instagram, not real life? Perfect pump. Matching outfits. Tripod set up. Zero grit. Look, there’s nothing wrong with that, I don’t criticize it and there’s nothing wrong with aesthetics—but if that’s all you’re chasing, you’re playing a fragile game. Because muscles mean nothing if they fold when life hits hard. And trust me (us) —MS doesn’t give a damn how shredded you look under the lights. It comes for your balance, your grip, your energy, your coordination—all the things they don’t flex on stage. That’s why I train like I’m going to war. Every rep is a rep against decline. Every round is a round against MS. When you’ve had days where your leg gives out walking to the car…When you’ve forgotten your own name mid-conversation from brain fog…When fatigue punches you in the gut before you even roll out of bed…You start to understand. This isn’t fitness—it’s survival. I don’t train for aesthetics anymore. I train for control, presence, and capability.

• I train so I can hold pads, in the future, for my daughter without my grip failing.
• I train so I can still hit the heavy bag after a brutal flare-up.
• I train because every time I finish a session, I remind my body who’s boss.

This is deeper than the gym. This is about being fight-ready in life. It’s about knowing I can trust my body—not because it’s perfect, but because it’s prepared. I’d rather be the guy who looks average but can take a punch, lift heavy, move fast, and think clearly when the pressure is on than the one who looks carved out of stone but falls apart the moment life gets ugly. Fight-ready means training g with intention. No wasted movement. No fluff. No ego. Everything I do in the gym or in the ring feeds one thing—resilience. And that mindset bleeds into everything:

• I show up at work sharper.
• I show up for my family stronger.
• I walk into each day with a sense of preparedness, not panic.

So no, I’m not out here trying to impress strangers. I’m building a body and mind that won’t quit when the next wave hits. I’m not gym pretty. I’m battle-hardened, MS-forged, and ready to go 12 rounds with life.

The Body Is Temporary. The Fighter Is Eternal.

Let the influencers chase symmetry. Let the fitness models polish their perfect highlight reels. Me? I’ll keep grinding in silence—because I don’t train to impress. I train to survive. To dominate the darkness that MS tries to drag me into. To stay dangerous, even when the world expects weakness. This blog isn’t about glorifying disease. It’s about rejecting the victim mindset. It’s about men and women who’ve been hit—hard—and are still choosing to stand. And standing tall doesn’t always mean standing strong. Sometimes it just means showing up—tired, hurting, foggy—and refusing to quit. You might not have six-pack abs. You might not be the strongest guy in the room anymore. But if you’re the guy who refuses to fold when life kicks you in the gut—then you’ve already won a fight most people never step into. Fight-ready means you’ve buried the ego. You train for clarity. For control. For presence. You learn how to adapt—and adapt hard. Boxing taught me that it’s not always about power punches. Sometimes it’s about endurance. About defense. About staying in the ring long enough to see round 1. MS is a long fight. There’s no knockout blow—just daily battles. But every time you move your body when it hurts…every time you lift even when you’re tired…every time you drag yourself out of your own mental quicksand and show up anyway…you’re proving something most people never have to—or choose to—prove:

That you’re a weapon. Sharpened. Hardened. Still here.

“The fight is won or lost far away from witnesses, behind the lines, in the gym, and out there on the road, long before I dance under those lights.” –Muhammad Ali

You don’t need the spotlight. You need the will. So walk your path like a fighter. Train like your life depends on it—because with MS, it just might. You’re not broken. You’re forged. Now keep going. The world hasn’t seen the last of you.