Mario Villalobos

Life Is Too Short to Live It in Mediocrity

I almost didn’t workout today. There was a leak in my sink that had been dripping water for what looked like weeks. I had paper towels under it, and they had been soaking up all the water. The only reason I knew there was a leak was by the smell of the mold it cultivated. I texted my landlord, but he was about an hour north with his father at the hospital, so he wasn’t able to come over and fix it. Instead, he asked his sister’s husband to come over and check it out. He was in and out of my house for a few hours, and he fixed it. The landlord will have to tear down the wall behind the sink and replace it. I’m supposed to check underneath the sink for a few weeks until then to see if the mold returns. His repairs pushed my workout further and further into the night, and once he finished, I briefly debated whether I would workout or not.

I want to live a great life. As cliché as that sounds, I want to experience all that life has to offer me. To do that, I have to be better than better. I have to be strong, both physically and mentally, and I have to push myself to do the things I do not feel like doing. I made a commitment with myself today to workout, and I wasn’t going to let some unexpected event deter me from that. I really wanted to, though. I even knew how I was going to do it. I would have pushed all my workouts forward by a day, and instead of taking Sunday off, I wouldn’t have had a rest day until the following Sunday, almost two weeks from now.

I worked out as hard I could, and I felt great. There were times during the workout when I didn’t, and I wanted to rest, to take a breath, and I did sometimes but not without a fight. Especially when every ounce of my being wanted to stop because the pain hurt or because my lungs needed more air, I pushed myself harder because I know that’s the only way to get stronger. If it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t count. If that’s the case, I’m wasting my time and sweating for no reason.

Life is too short to live it in mediocrity. I have to have to best and strongest body I can. I have to read and learn as much as I can for hours every day. I have to write every day and learn and improve and master my craft. Anything less than this is mediocre and pointless. Excellence isn’t given to anyone. It has to be earned. An unearned life is not worth living.

I don’t always live up to my ideals. I want to be better, and I want to fight harder than I do, but the perfunctoriness of life can weigh me down. It’s during those times where I have to be more vigilant. It’s hard — really hard — especially when I’m tired, but if it’s not hard, it’s not worth doing.