MS Fighter

Existential Iron. Finding Meaning in the Chaos of MS.

Life doesn’t hand out meaning. It doesn’t serve you purpose on a silver platter. It doesn’t stop the chaos long enough to give you a neat explanation about why things happen the way they do. It just keeps moving…messy, unpredictable, brutal…without caring how you feel about it.

MS makes that truth impossible to ignore. One day, you wake up sharp, energy pumping through your body, ready to train, ready to fight. The next, it’s like the world pulled the floor out from under you. Fatigue smashes you before you even leave the house. Muscles feel like they’re carrying concrete. Your head fogs over like someone flipped the lights off upstairs. No reason. No warning. No fairness. Just chaos on top of chaos, and you’re left standing in the middle of it with your plans burning in your hands. Most people fall apart right there. They keep waiting for life to explain itself. They think if they hang on long enough, one day everything will make sense…the suffering, the setbacks, the bad luck. They want some cosmic guarantee that all the pain is leading somewhere before they decide to fight for anything.

That day never comes.

The existentialists knew this. Camus looked at life…the suffering, the absurdity, the guaranteed death at the end of it all…and said the only real question was whether you keep living and keep fighting anyway. He called life absurd not as an insult, but as a challenge…if nothing is certain, if nothing is promised, if nothing is handed to you… then what are you going to do about it? Sartre took it even further. If life has no built-in meaning, no divine script, no rules written in the stars, then you’re not just free…you’re responsible. No excuses. No hiding behind fate, luck, or destiny. If your life feels empty, it’s on you to fill it. If the chaos is crushing you, it’s on you to stand up in the middle of it and build something that matters.

That’s the point. Life doesn’t give you meaning. MS sure as hell doesn’t give you meaning. The storm doesn’t stop because you’re tired. The weight doesn’t lift itself because you feel like quitting. No one’s coming to write your story for you. The existential answer is brutal but simple…you stop waiting for clarity, for fairness, for permission. You build meaning yourself…under the bar, in the fight, through the pain…while the world burns around you. Because there is no perfect day. No perfect health. No perfect moment when life says Okay, now you can live with purpose. You carve that purpose out of the chaos with your own two hands…or you don’t. And if you don’t, the storm swallows you whole. 

The world owes you nothing. The weight owes you nothing. Meaning isn’t given. It’s built. Every rep. Every round. Every damn day.

The Absurd. The Fight.

Camus said life is absurd. Not absurd like a joke, not absurd like something to laugh off and ignore…absurd because it doesn’t come with a script, a purpose, or a damn explanation. It gives you beauty and pain in the same moment. It hands you victories and rips them away in the same breath. It takes the things you love, throws storms in your path, and then refuses to tell you why. Life is chaos. And MS? MS takes that chaos and turns the volume all the way up. Because MS doesn’t play by rules. It doesn’t warn you before it comes swinging. It doesn’t give you a plan to follow or a pattern you can figure out. One morning, your body wakes up ready to fight…energy flowing, strength steady, focus sharp. The next morning, it’s like someone replaced your muscles with sandbags and filled your skull with fog. Fatigue drops out of nowhere. Pain cuts through your plans like a blade. Everything you thought you could count on turns into quicksand under your feet.

That’s the definition of absurd…no control, no guarantees, no promises. And most people? They break right there. They cry about the chaos. They waste their lives demanding answers that never come. They tell themselves they’ll start living with purpose when things finally make sense, when life finally calms down, when the storms finally stop.

But the storms never stop.

Camus knew it. He looked at the madness of the world…the wars, the suffering, the losses, the inevitable death waiting for everyone at the end…and said the only real question left is this Do you keep living and fighting anyway? That’s why he wrote about Sisyphus…the man cursed by the gods to push a boulder up a hill for eternity, only to watch it roll back down every single time. Pointless. Endless. Cruel. And yet Camus said One must imagine Sisyphus happy. Because the man still fights. The man still pushes. The man still defies the gods by refusing to quit. That’s the core of existentialism. Life doesn’t hand you meaning. MS sure as hell doesn’t hand you meaning. The chaos, the pain, the losses…they don’t come with instructions. You don’t get a cosmic explanation before you start living like it all matters.So you stop waiting for one. You train anyway. You fight anyway. You stay disciplined on the bad days, the fog days, the heavy days…not because the world owes you clarity, but because you choose to build meaning with your own two hands. That’s why the weight matters. That’s why the rounds on the bag matter. That’s why the early mornings, the clean meals, the hard sessions matter. Not because you’re promised anything in return, but because every rep, every punch, every drop of sweat is you spitting in the face of chaos saying You don’t get to break me. Life is absurd. MS is chaos. The storms keep coming. And you keep fighting…because the fight itself becomes the answer.

Freedom. Responsibility.

Existentialism hands you freedom, but not the soft, easy kind that people like to talk about. This isn’t the freedom of vacations, weekends, or extra hours of sleep. This is the raw, terrifying freedom of knowing no one is coming to save you. No one is handing you a roadmap. No one is giving you the answers. The pen is in your hands, and the story stays blank until you start writing.

Most people hate that kind of freedom because it comes welded to responsibility. Real freedom means no excuses left to hide behind. You can’t blame fate, destiny, or the universe when things fall apart. You can’t pin your failures on bad luck or genetics or circumstances. Not even on MS. The storm comes either way. The chaos hits either way. The question isn’t whether life will test you…it’s whether you’ll keep standing when it does. Sartre said we are condemned to be free. Condemned, because this freedom feels heavy. It comes with the crushing realization that life has no script, no built-in meaning, no cosmic referee keeping things fair. There’s just you, the chaos, and whatever fight you decide to bring to it.

And most people never bring the fight.

They wait. They wait for the perfect conditions before they start living with purpose. They wait for the fatigue to lift, for MS to back off, for work to get easier, for stress to disappear. They keep waiting for life to give them permission to finally take themselves seriously. That day never comes.

Because life doesn’t hand out permission slips. It hands out chaos. It hands out storms. It hands out pain at the worst possible time. MS brings unpredictability on top of that…fatigue dropping on you mid-week, symptoms wrecking your plans without warning. And while most people sit around waiting for things to calm down, waiting for life to stop swinging, the man who gets it knows the storm isn’t stopping. He builds himself anyway.

That’s the weight of responsibility…and the power of it.

You can’t control MS flare-ups. You can’t control bad luck. You can’t control what life takes from you. But you control how you train today. You control whether you eat like a man preparing for battle or like someone who’s already surrendered. You control whether you guard your sleep like a weapon or burn through it with mindless scrolling. You control whether you keep showing up when the fight gets ugly. Freedom without responsibility is useless. It’s drifting through life like a passenger, blaming everyone and everything while doing nothing to change your own damn story. Responsibility is what gives freedom weight. It’s what turns chaos into a challenge instead of a prison. The man who takes responsibility stops crying about what he can’t control. He starts with what he can…his discipline, his effort, his focus, his attitude. MS can shake the ground under his feet, but it can’t stop him from standing tall on it.

Sartre was right. We are condemned to be free. There’s no script. No perfect meaning falling from the sky. No one’s coming to rescue you from chaos. You build meaning yourself, or you break waiting for someone else to do it.

The Weight of Choice.

Existentialism strips life bare. It says there is no script, no cosmic plan, no fate pulling the strings behind the curtain. There is no manual telling you what to do when life throws pain in your face. There is no promise that tomorrow will be easier, cleaner, or more predictable. There is just you. Standing in the middle of the storm. Free. And with that freedom comes the heaviest truth of all…you own what you choose. Most people run from that. They want to blame someone, anyone, for the life they have. Their parents. The system. Bad luck. Genetics. The weather. MS. They want to point at the chaos and say That’s why I can’t get it together. That’s why I can’t fight. That’s why I can’t stay disciplined. Existentialism laughs at that because it leaves no place to hide. It burns every excuse to ash.

Because once you realize the storm isn’t stopping…that life isn’t slowing down for you, that MS isn’t giving you a break, that the chaos isn’t pausing to let you catch your breath…then you see the only thing left is choice. The choice to fight or fold. The choice to build or to waste. The choice to get up or to stay down. But you should keep in mind that every choice is carving you into something. You wake up crushed by fatigue, body heavy, head pounding. That’s a moment of choice. You can stay there, complain about it, let the day own you before it even starts. Or you can get up, drink your water, stretch, train in whatever way you can. Maybe not at full speed. Maybe not at full strength. But you still show up. You still fight. Because the man who keeps showing up when he’s drained becomes the man who doesn’t break when it matters. You come home after a day stacked with deadlines, stress, and family chaos. Another choice. You can eat junk, stay up late, burn the night away with mindless scrolling and call it unwinding. Or you can eat clean, rest hard, prepare for tomorrow, and keep your edge sharp while everyone else dulls theirs with excuses. You’ve got symptoms flaring, energy tanked, plans wrecked. Another choice. Do you throw the whole day away because it isn’t perfect? Or do you adjust? Change the workout. Cut the volume. Do mobility instead of heavy squats. Shadowbox instead of bag rounds. Something. Anything. Because motion is better than surrender.

That’s what existentialism demands. You can’t control the chaos. You can’t control the suffering. You can’t control the fact that death is coming for everyone eventually. But you control the meaning you carve out of all of it. Every rep. Every round. Every meal. Every hard choice on a day when everything in you wants to quit. Training teaches this better than anything else. The weights don’t lift themselves. The rounds don’t fight themselves. Discipline doesn’t fall out of the sky and land in your lap. You either make the choice to do the work…or you don’t. And that choice either builds you into someone who stands tall when life turns ugly…or someone who folds the second it does.

Existentialism is freedom, but it’s the kind of freedom that carries weight like iron plates on your back. You’re free to stay weak. Free to waste your time. Free to make excuses until the day you die. But you’re also free to build something real. To stand for something. To create meaning where there was none before. Every choice is a brick. Every day is a wall. Every decision either builds a fortress around your life or leaves you exposed to the storm. And no one else swings the hammer but you.

The Fight You Choose.

Life doesn’t wait for anyone. It doesn’t pause because you’re tired. It doesn’t hand out meaning like it’s a prize for good behavior. It doesn’t line things up neatly so you can finally feel ready. It just keeps swinging. Sometimes softly, sometimes hard enough to break ribs, but always swinging. And MS? MS makes that reality impossible to ignore. It piles unpredictability on top of chaos. It steals your energy when you need it most. It wrecks your plans without warning. It laughs at your schedules, your goals, your neat little expectations for how life should go. Most people see that storm and shrink from it. They live their lives waiting for the day when things will finally calm down. They tell themselves I’ll start when I feel better. I’ll live with discipline when life slows down. I’ll chase purpose when the symptoms fade. The truth is…the symptoms don’t fade. Life doesn’t slow down. The storm doesn’t stop. And while they’re sitting there waiting for the perfect moment, life keeps moving, time keeps burning, and the fight keeps passing them by.

Existentialism kills that fantasy with one brutal swing…no one is coming to save you. No one is writing your story for you. No one is handing you meaning, discipline, or purpose. You build it or you don’t. You fight or you fold. You rise or you break. And that’s the paradox…the same freedom that terrifies people is the same freedom that saves them. Because if life has no built-in meaning, if MS brings chaos without reason, if the storm refuses to stop…then you’re free to carve meaning out of the madness yourself. You don’t need permission. You don’t need guarantees. You don’t need perfect days.

You need choices. Daily. Repeated. Relentless. You choose to train when fatigue crushes you. You choose to eat clean when stress screams for junk. You choose to recover like it matters when everyone else brags about burning out. You choose to live disciplined when the world hands you excuses. You choose to keep moving forward when MS hits like a hammer. And choice by choice, you build something the chaos can’t touch. You build a man the storm can’t break. That’s what existentialism hands you…not comfort, not answers, but the power to stand in the middle of the fire and say I will make this life mean something, even if it kills me doing it.

Because the storm will always come. The weight will always be heavy. MS will always find new ways to test you. Life will always keep swinging. But if you wait for peace before you live with purpose, you’ll wait forever. Existentialism says meaning isn’t given. It’s forged. It’s carved out of the chaos with your bare hands. It’s built under the barbell, in the fight, through the pain, one rep, one round, one disciplined day at a time. The world doesn’t care about your excuses. The storm doesn’t care about your feelings. And that’s the point…you don’t need it to. Because the fight you choose every day is the meaning you’ve been waiting for.