Saturday Doesn’t Care

By Curtis Pelletier

This morning I woke up at 3:30.
Just like every morning.
Not because I’m some superhero.
Because my brain wanted to tuck me back into the old lazy habits.
Hit snooze, scroll, promise Monday will be different.

I’ve lived that life.
The one where you sleep in,
say “tomorrow,”
and wake up a year later wondering how the hell nothing’s changed.
It’s not glamorous.
It’s just slow-motion self-destruction, dressed up as comfort.

So I got up.

I did my grounding.
Hit my pre-workout.
Drove through the empty streets.
The city still sleeping,
me fighting yawns behind the wheel,
eyes burning, body begging to crawl back under the covers.

By 4 a.m., I was in the gym.
No Rocky music.
No spotlight.
Just me, the iron, and my own head.
And let me tell you,
there is nothing sexy about yawning between sets.
Nothing Instagram-worthy about dragging yourself through deadlifts
while your body files complaints to HR.

And that’s when the old me shows up.
Not in the gym, but in my head.
The thoughts come, out of my control.
I see him.
I’m not a fan of him.
He is not me.
I am not him.
But he’s there, lingering,
and I have to fight that son of a bitch daily.

That’s the recovery.
Not one-and-done.
Not “fixed.”
It’s a daily process.
An intentional process.
Every workout, every rep, every early morning
It isn’t just training my body.
It’s me beating the shit out of that old asshole I once was.

Sure, competing in an Ironman is cool.
Being athletic is great.
But that’s not the point.

The point is I’m burying the old version of me.
Every morning.
Every lift.
Every mile.

Day by day.
Rep by rep.
Breath by breath.

I’m building the man I know I am.
The man people can lean on.
When life guts them with grief.
When the storm hits.
When they need someone solid.

I’m building the man I needed.
The one who didn’t exist back then.
The one who could’ve saved me from myself.

No cracks left for the old me to crawl back through.
No space for excuses, chaos, or weakness.
Just the steady, relentless version
I promised myself I’d become.

I train to stay ahead of that ghost.
To make sure the only place he lives
is in my rearview mirror.

Here’s the difference:

A weak mind waits for the spark.
A strong mind lights the match.

A weak mind says, “I’ll start when I feel ready.”
A strong mind knows feelings are liars.

A weak mind yawns and goes back to bed.
A strong mind yawns and keeps going,
because discipline doesn’t care how you feel.

And listen....
you don’t need to be up at 3:30.
You don’t need to drive through ghost-town streets
or lift half-awake in a gym that still smells like Friday night.
But you do need proof.

Proof you’re not still the old you.
Proof you can keep promises to yourself.
Proof you can fight the yawns,
and win.

Because Saturday doesn’t care.
Your goals don’t care.
But your future self does.
And when that guy looks back,
he won’t remember the yawns,
or the empty streets,
or how tired you were.

He’ll remember one thing:
You showed up.

And showing up...
even when it’s not glamorous,
especially when it’s not glamorous...
That’s the difference between the weak mind and the strong one.