Why I Still Choose the Work

“Most progress doesn’t feel like progress. It just feels like showing up again.” - Iñaki

Some days, I don’t want to train.
Other days, I do.

But regardless of how I feel, I often end up in the same place:
The work.

Not the glamorous part. Not the race. Not the big moment.
Just the quiet rhythm of showing up.

It’s rarely perfect. Often inconvenient.
But it’s the only thing I’ve found that truly builds anything: inside or out.

This isn’t advice or a motivational speech.
It’s simply what I’ve come to believe after years of coaching entrepreneurs, athletes, and parents… and living through all of it myself, with plenty of hits and misses along the way.

So today, I’m not here to push you to do more.
Instead, I’m inviting you to ask yourself:

• Why do you work so hard?

• What are you really chasing?

• What would it mean if you stopped?

• Is it you who needs the challenge, or has the challenge started needing you?

Let me show you what I’ve learned from asking those same questions.

1. I do the work.

I don’t always feel like it.
Most of the time, I’d rather wait until I’m more rested, more aligned.

But if I wait for the perfect conditions, I wait forever.

So I work.
Not because I’m “disciplined.”
But because I’ve seen what happens when I stop.

One skipped workout or half-hearted workday won’t break me.
But over time, these choices shape my trajectory toward someone I want to become or away from it.

I don’t aim for perfection anymore.
I aim for rhythm.

2. I try to enjoy the work.

Not because I love disconfort. I don’t.
But because I’ve trained myself to notice what the work gives me, even when it’s hard.

Tiered. Sleepless. Rainy and grey.
Still, I enjoy the quiet intention of showing up.
And keeping small promises to myself.

Most of the time, that’s enough to feel proud. And wing again another day.

3. I fuel for the work.

Like many people, when I started my journey, I believed less was more.
And in some ways, it is, but not entirely.
Eat clean. Go light. Stay sharp.
I thought restraint alone would be enough to carry me.

But now, I think differently.
I don’t just want to survive the work, I want to last to also help others.

Fueling isn’t indulgent. It’s respect.
For my body. For my mind. For the people who count on me.

Under-eating isn’t discipline, it’s slow sabotage.
Under-sleeping. Under-connecting. Under-breathing.
They all wear us down in ways we don’t notice: until we break.