Albs! You inspiring motherfucker. You went and did it didn’t you? And when I say inspiring, I’m not even talking about your shredded dark chocolate exterior. Don’t even get me started on your earthquake invoking biceps capable of wiping out Tasmania. Not yet anyway. 

You told me awhile back that you were excited about the looming event, but also a little worried. Not scared, just worried. Worried that unlike other competitive and athletic sports out there, where the best of the best get to show their skills off when they’re at their… well, their best. The peak of their inner and outer condition. But what you did was different. So fucking different that not many people understand it, even I don’t fully grasp it all really. When you’re up there on that stage, getting gawked at, judged at, adored at and in most cases, eye banged at, not many people are privy to the fact that you’re actually at your most weakest. Your most vulnerable. That’s a pretty fucking scary thing to immerse yourself in. But you went and did it didn’t you?

You did what a great deal of us very low key strive towards. One day you just thought, “fuck it, I’m doing it.” And you actually follow through with it, commuting from words, straight to action. The inner enemies that tell you to get the burger and fries instead. Those fuckers in your head that convince you to throw in the towel before you even break a sweat. You got up every day, for twenty-two straight weeks. You, astutely weaving through all the temptations along the way. Despite it all, you followed through with your relentless regime. Your program. The one that would drive you to achieve three shiny statues.

I genuinely think you set strongholds of examples. Powerful ones. Your mindset has always been one with tenacity and you’ve never really strayed from that. 

So I guess if nothing else to take from this rant, it’d be two things I’d like you to take away. Albs, I’m so fucking proud of you. And thanks for being an inspiration.

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